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NEW YORK TO JERUSALEM 



NOTES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL. 



REPUBLISHED FROM THE COLUMNS OF A LOCAL JOURNAL. 



BY 

G-. H- O-- 

1881. 



,Gts 



XeJtrtttt 












NEW HAVEN : 
TUTTLE, MOREHOUSE & TAYLOR, PRINTERS. 



PREFACE 



The following notes of a tour in Europe and the East, made 
many years ago, were, on their first appearance, kindly received 6 
by many readers. 

In putting them into this more permanent form, the author 
would not be understood to claim for them the merit of novelty ; 
he only believes that details are given here and there in these 
pages which do not often find their way into books of travel. 

If some of the allusions to persons or places betray the remote- 
ness of the period when the observations were made, the reader 
will please bear in mind that one of the peculiar charms of a for- 
eign tour consists in the antiquity of the objects he sees and the 
localities he visits ; hence, the interest attaching to the perusal of 
such a work is not dependent upon the date of the journey it 
describes. 

The author of this little itinerary hopes that its outlines will 
furnish some profitable information to those who have not been 
abroad, while it serves to awaken many delightful memories in 
the minds of others who have enjoyed that privilege. 

Milford, Conn., July i, 1SS1. 



INTRODUCTORY. 



Ho ! for a trip to the Old World. But do not be in 
haste to start on your journey. Reflect a moment on 
the strangeness of designating one portion of the 
globe in distinction from another — the Old World — 
as if indeed the creation of the Eastern hemisphere 
ante-dated that of the Western, whereas, in reality, 
on the authority of so distinguished a savant as Agas- 
siz, America, and not Europe, is entitled by priority 
of existence, to be so named. "First born among 
the Continents," he says, in his Geological Sketches, 
chap, i, "though so much later in culture and civil- 
ization than some of more recent birth, America, so 
far as her physical history is concerned, has been 
falsely denominated the New World. Hers was the 
first dry land lifted out of the waters; hers the first 
shore washed by the ocean that enveloped all the 
earth beside; and while Europe was only represented 
by islands rising here and there above the sea, Amer- 
ica already stretched in one unbroken line of land 
(elsewhere called the Laurentian kills), from Nova 
Scotia to the far West." 

In alluding, then, to Europe as the Old World, 
which we may correctly do by common acceptance, 



and also in accordance with those facts, which con- 
stitute the history of nations, it will be well for us to 
bear in mind that we Americans really inhabit the 
oldest piece of land on the globe. This fact to the 
contrary, however, there is an air of antiquity about 
almost every thing one sees abroad, which is calcu- 
lated to impress the stranger with awe and reverence. 

This age of ours has been called, par eminence, a 
traveling age, and Americans seem to have won the 
reputation above all competitors of being a nation of 
travelers. There is a certain compound word de- 
scriptive of the representative Yankee — a word which, 
better than any other, explains his roving propen- 
sitv — viz : go-ahead-a-tive-ness . It is not found in any 
of the dictionaries, but its use in this connection 
will be pardoned for the sake of its comprehensive 
expressiveness. It seems to combine these four ele- 
ments of character: energy, pluck, enthusiasm, and 
curiosity — perhaps a little more of the last feature than 
either of the other three. It must certainly be admit- 
ted that we Yankees are an uncommonly inquisitive 
race, manifesting that disposition sometimes in laud- 
able ways, and again in directions not so much to 
our praise. There is reason to fear that many of our 
countrymen who travel in Europe discredit their 
nation, in the opinion of foreigners, and return home 
without reaping any of the benefits which may accrue 
to those who visit other lands, not unduly prejudiced 
in favor of their own, and determined to find what- 
ever of good there may be in all. 

A popular author has said : " It is but to be able to 



say that they have been to such a place, or have seen 
such a thing, that more, than any real taste for it, in- 
duces the majority of the world to incur the trouble 
and fatigue of traveling." 

In a word, it has recently become very fashionable 
to "go abroad," as the phrase is; and it cannot be 
doubted that many travel simply because it is the 
proper thing to do. Such persons meekly endure 
the trials of their journey in a devoted spirit of mar- 
tyrdom, wishing all the time that they were at home. 
Returning at last, they know just enough about the 
localities they have visited to tell their names and 
pronounce them with exquisite foreign accent. They 
do not speak of Paris, but Pa-ree ; not Versailles, 
but Vare-sigh j not Berlin, but Bere-leen ; not Mount 
Blanc, but Maw Blaw, and so on. If, however, one 
would not very seriously embarrass them, he must 
be careful not to inquire with any minuteness about 
particular cathedrals, or palaces, or galleries of paint- 
ings, for if any one propounds such queries, he will 
receive only the most indefinite and incoherent kind 
of replies. 

It ought to be the rule with every one that pro- 
poses to himself a foreign tour, not to undertake it 
until he has made himself, by personal observation, 
somewhat familiar with the most interesting features 
of his own land. Suppose an American, who had 
never seen Niagara or the great lakes, traveling 
through Europe: On the journey he encounters an 
intelligent Englishman who asks him some question 
about the wonderful cataract in America, or those 



immense inland seas of fresh water, of which he has 
heard so much. ''Really," responds the American, 
" I must confess that I never visited those parts of 
the country." "What!" naturally exclaims the 
stranger; "is it possible? Have not seen Niagara 
or the lakes? and here you are thousands of miles 
from home. Pardon me, but I must consider you a 
very poor patriot that you do not better appreciate 
the marvels of your own glorious country." But 
oh ! there's the ocean, and we have not crossed it yet. 
Well, it is not strange that one who is just embark- 
ing for his first voyage should feel many secret mis- 
givings on the subject. Those treacherous winds, 
those unstable waves, and the great steamer, soon to 
be at the mercy of both. But, even if the winds and 
the waves behave themselves decorously, here is this 
huge leviathan of the deep, with its ponderous ma- 
chinery, liable to fracture or derangement, and un- 
derneath, those blazing furnace fires, like small- 
edition volcanoes, that may burst their boundaries 
and scatter death and destruction around without a 
moment's warning. But why borrow trouble ? There 
are perils on the land as well as on the sea. " Noth- 
ing venture, nothing win." Thinking, then, only of 
pleasant things to come, and committing our way to 
the Lord, we embark. The last farewells are spoken, 
the parting glances of friends exchanged, and the 
great steamer moves majestically from the pier amid 
the huzzas of the assembled multitude. Down the 
beautiful bay she glides, and passing the Narrows, is 
soon heading to sea, outward bound. Ere the sun 



sinks beneath the horizon the harbor pilot has been 
discharged, and the last strip of land has faded from 
sight. Then comes home-sickness and heart-sick- 
ness, and another kind of malady more directly 
connected with the stomach, the particulars of which 
need not be described. 

We will now suppose nine or ten days to have 
passed by. It is easy enough to annihilate time and 
space on paper, if not in actual fact. An ocean voyage 
is necessarily more or less monotonous; but, it is a 
tedium varied by some excitements in the shape of 
an occasional storm, (which the timid passengers 
would be glad enough to discount), an iceberg now 
and then, or a shoal of porpoises, a flock of sea-gulls, 
a distant sail, or steamer. Then one never tires of 
watching the splendid phosphorescence of the sea, at 
night, and the bright shining of the stars in the 
boundless expanse of heaven — so perfect a counter- 
part to the unbroken waste of waters. At the ex- 
piration of the eighth or ninth day, the cry of" Land 
ho!" is heard, filling all hearts with gladness, and 
after another day's steaming, the ship ploughs its 
way grandly up the Mersey, and casts anchor at 
Liverpool, where we rest for the present. 



II. 

LIVERPOOL AND LONDON. 



Liverpool may be called the city of magnificent 
docks. They stretch along the water front for a dis- 
tance of many miles, and constitute the grandest 
specimens of heavy stone masonry in the British 
Kingdom. If there are any finer docks than these in 
the world, I have yet to hear of them. 

Admitting ships of the heaviest tonnage within 
their ponderous enclosures, they securely guard them 
against the severest storms, enabling the craft to 
ride peacefully at anchor while the winds howl, and 
the waves dash upon the stony ramparts. Beyond 
this feature of interest, there is nothing specially 
noteworthy in the city. It is almost wholly given up 
to commerce. 

Across the Mersey is Birkenhead (situated rela- 
tively to Liverpool as Jersey City is to New York), 
where the Messrs. Laird's great ship yards are lo- 
cated, and where the famous " Alabama " was built ; 
the costliest vessel, I opine that ever went forth from 
their establishment, not so much in the actual price 
paid to its builders, as in the damages awarded to 
those who suffered from its depredations. (A sensible 
suggestion on this point was recently made by a 
writer in an English newspaper, to the effect that the 
Messrs. Laird be levied upon by the Queen's govern- 



ment to the tune of one million pounds sterling or 
thereabouts, as a just consideration for their haste to 
be rich at the expense of their neutrality toward a 
friendly power at war with its rebellious citizens.) 

But we must be off for London, whither we speed 
by rail, in superb cars (or carriages, as the English 
will persist in calling them), over a road built with 
far more solidity than our American railways. I 
know of no road in this country which approaches 
so near to the foreign standard in the substantial 
character of all its appointments as the Pennsylvania 
Central. 

In England the railroad bridges are all constructed 
of stone, and the road-bed is gravelled, in most in- 
stances. The track seldom crosses a carriage road on 
the same level, being always above or below it. So 
there are none of those distressing accidents at cross- 
ings, of which we so often hear in this country.* 

In darting through the country at forty or fifty 
miles an hour, one notes the prevalence again of 
stone in the construction of the houses, scarcely a 
wooden structure to be seen, even in the smallest 
towns. This, among other things, helps one realize 
that he is in an old country — yes, a country that was 
old before Columbus discovered America. 

The luxuriance of vegetation and the richness of 
verdure in every direction, lead one to exclaim, as he 
surveys the landscape, " Old England is a perfect 

* In the few instances of the railway crossing the carriage road 
on the grade the place is guarded by gates, with an attendant to 
manage them. 



garden." But look ! there in the distance is Lon- 
don. You strain your eyes -to catch the first glimpse 
of the vast metropolis, and what do you see? Noth- 
ing but smoke. The train rushes on over the house- 
tops, each roof containing a good supply of chim- 
neys, and each chimney provided with plenty of what 
they call chimney-pots, and each one of these articles 
aforesaid sending forth any quantity of smoke One 
quickly perceives that he is entering the confines of a 
great city, and soon he finds himself ready to alight 
from the cars in one of the grand railway stations of 
London. (The English, by the way, never call such 
structures depots. They apply that word only to 
warehouses for the storage of goods; the terminus, 
or landing place of a railroad is a station. Perhaps 
it may be worth our while to follow their excellent 
example in the correct use of language.) 

One of England's greatest poets has drawn this 
picture of London : 

"A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, 
Dirty and dusk} 7 , but as wide as eye 
Could reach ; with here and there a sail just skipping 
In sight, then lost amid the forestry 
Of masts ; a wilderness of steeples peeping 
On tip-toe through their sea-coal canopy, 
A huge dun cupola, like a fool's cap crown 
On a fool's head ; and there is London town." 

It is one vast maze, a labyrinth of houses great 
and small, extending over a space which measures 
on the average twenty miles in diameter. A few of 
the streets are laid out in a straight line, but most of 



them are exceedingly tortuous; one (Regent street) 
describing a perfect semicircle. Some of these thor- 
oughfares are quite wide and imposing in their gen- 
eral appearance, but the majority (at least in the older 
parts of the city) are narrow and far from pleasant, 
either for residences or business houses. 

The sidewalks are crowded with a compact mass of 
humanity through the day and far into the night, and 
the mid-spaces are perpetually full of 'buses (i. e., 
omnibuses), hansom cabs, hackney coaches, dog carts, 
(a genteel kind of two-wheeled vehicle in which the 
richest people often ride), and wagons of every pos- 
sible size and shape. 

If one attempts a crossing under such circum- 
stances, it is only at the peril of his limbs, if not of 
his life. Broadway, at the corner of Fulton street, 
in its most crowded condition, is no circumstance to 
Cheapside, near St. Paul's. 

As a relief to the dull monotony of brick and mor- 
tar, there are a few large parks, which seem like 
breathing holes in the dense atmosphere; while, as a 
pleasant variation of the scene, the river Thames 
winds its serpentine course along through the south- 
ern section of the city. 

Of all the open spaces of public resort, Hyde Park 
is the most distinguished, both for its size, as for the 
multitudes who on every fine day throng its walks 
and roads. (I should here explain, that to an Eng- 
lishman, the day is a " fine " one, when it showers, 
say half a dozen times, or even sets into a steady 
drizzle. A Londoner really seems to enjoy his daily 



14 

or hourly rain. It is never safe there to go forth 
without an umbrella.) 

Unlike our Central Park, or the Bois de Bologne 
of Paris, Hyde Park is situated almost in the heart 
of the city. Neither does it abound, like the others, 
in miniature bridges, sparkling cascades, or lovely 
bits of landscape gardening. It consists simply of a 
well cultivated area of grass-grown ground, hun- 
dreds of acres in extent, laid out with an abundance 
of space for promenades and drives. 

Here, during the " season " may be seen between 4 
and 6 o'clock every afternoon, the nobility, in their 
splendid equipages, with liveried coachmen and foot- 
men, the driver often sitting astride of one of the 
pole-horses. A large number of equestrians frequent 
the bridle path prepared for them with loose earth, 
in a line parallel with and contiguous to the main 
carriage road. 

I have spoken of the smokiness of London. Every- 
thing in consequence presents a rather dismal and 
sombre appearance. 

Whatever may be the original color of the material 
used in the construction of a house, in a year or two 
after erection it will assume the same monotonous 
sooty hue which envelopes the city like a pall. 

Here, for instance, is the grand old cathedral, St. 
Paul's, an immense marble pile, a splendid specimen 
of the architectural genius of Sir Christopher Wren. 

It would puzzle any beholder to tell what kind of 
dark stone constitutes the substance of its walls and 
ponderous dome, while the truth is, all that wretched 



15 

soot which issued from the furnaces consuming the 
bituminous coal of the country, and rested on those 
pinnacles, and turrets, buttresses and architraves, 
covers what was once pi/re while marble. 

St. Paul's, besides serving the ordinary purposes of 
a cathedral, contains a large number of monumental 
tablets and statues erected in memory of distin- 
guished statesmen and scholars, poets and divines. 
At the spring of the immense dome there is a famous 
whispering gallery, where, by placing his ear against 
the wall, one can hear with perfect distinctness words 
spoken in the lowest tone of voice by a person on 
the opposite side, more than seventy-five feet distant. 

Spanning the Thames (which is a very muddy and 
unclean looking river) are a dozen or more of heavy 
stone bridges, located at convenient intervals, to ac- 
commodate the vast internal traffic of the city; the 
most famous of these bears the name of London 
Bridge. Over it pass and repass daily thousands of 
vehicles and scores of thousands of human beings. 

The ferry boats which ply up and down the 
Thames are interesting relics of antiquity. 

In America they would hardly be considered fit to 
serve as tug boats. Miserable, contracted and dis- 
agreeable modes of conveyance they are. Instead of 
being furnished with signal bells, tor communication 
between the pilot and engineer, a boy stands midway 
between the two, and watching the movements of the 
pilot's hands, sings out the orders, " Ease her," " Stop 
her," "Back her," or " Go ahead," as the case may be. 

It scarcely seems credible that with all their per- 



i6 

fection of detail in many things, the English should 
be so slow to adopt the simplest kinds of improved 
apparatus for the management of their river 
steamers.* 

The smoke-pipes are made capable of being low- 
ered, in order to avoid collision with the arches of 
the bridges, under which they have to pass so fre- 
quently. To an American the sight is novel and amus- 
ing, as these boats approaching abridge lower their 
pipes, and having passed raise them again to the per- 
pendicular. 

In speaking, just now, of the street scenes of Lon- 
don, I should have mentioned the boys, poor urchins, 
who run long by the side of the 'buses, turning som- 
ersaults for the pennies which the passengers may 
throw them. I have seen the little fellows thus keep 
abreast of the 'bus, block after block, until it would 
seem they must fall down from sheer exhaustion. 

But our rambles must close here for to-day. 

*In this year of grace, 1S81, it is reported that the ferry compa- 
nies on the Thames are about to introduce a few steamboats of 
the American model. This is an improvement imperatively de- 
manded by the wants of the traveling public. It is necessary also 
for the sake of consistency with the magnificent " embankment " 
built recently, as an ornament to the river and a grand prom- 
enade for vehicles and pedestrians. 



17 

III. 
LONDON. 

In describing some of the most interesting sights 
of London and vicinity, I must content myself with 
very brief and imperfect sketches, only pausing here 
and there to give a more complete account of some 
locality which may be worthy of special attention. 
The truth is, London is so immense, and contains 
such a vast amount of interesting institutions, that 
one is thoroughly bewildered, either in trying to 
visit them, or in essaying to convey any adequate 
idea of them to another. 

I have already spoken of St. Paul's Cathedral as 
serving the purpose both of a sanctuary and of a 
mausoleum. To a far greater extent is this two-fold 
use of a great religious edifice exemplified in the 
case of Westminster Abbey, within whose walls 
divine service is celebrated every day in the year, 
with preaching every Sabbath; and in whose vaults 
repose the ashes of nearly all of the deceased mem- 
bers of the royal families of England, from Edward 
the Confessor to George the Second. Here also lie 
the remains of hundreds of England's greatest and 
best men. 

This Abbey was founded in the 7th century by 
Sebert, King of the Saxons. Having been destroyed 
by the Danes, it was rebuilt by King Edgar in 958. 



i8 

In 1245 Edward II. commenced building the present 
structure, which has received many additions in suc- 
ceeding reigns. Almost every inch of the walls — to 
the height of (say) twenty feet above the stone pave- 
ment — is occupied with marble slabs, scrolls, tablets, 
and bas reliefs, each bearing its appropriate epitaph 
in memory of him whose dust is interred beneath. 

In passing along the South Transept or Poet's 
Corner, one marks such names as Ben Johnson and 
John Milton and Thomas Gray, Geoffrey Chaucer 
and John Dryden and Joseph Addison, Thomas 
Campbell and Robert Southey and William Shak- 
speare. To this list of names, " which were not born 
to die," have been more recently added those of 
Charles Dickens and David Livingstone. 

Shakspeare's monument consists of a pedestal, sur- 
mounted by a life-size marble statue of the great 
dramatist, who is leaning with his right arm upon a 
pillar, whereon rests a scroll inscribed with these 
lines from one of his plays, at which he points with 
his left hand : 

"The cloud-capp'd towers ; the gorgeous palaces ; 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself ; 
Yea, all which it inherit shall dissolve, 
And like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
Leave not a wreck behind." 

Passing on, we read the names of Geo. Fred. Han- 
del, the eminent musical composer; Sir Isaac New- 
ton; Pitt, the great Commoner of England; Pitt, 
Earl of Chatham ; Canning, Fox, Sheridan, Macau- 
lay, and Wilberforce. 



19 

In standing by the resting place of England's Re- 
former, one cannot but be impressed by the beauty of 
the inscription setting forth the principal features of 
his eventful life. As a contrast to that epitaph just 
quoted, as well as for its intrinsic worth, I here re- 
produce it verbatim : 

" To the memory of 
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, 
Born in Hull, November 24, 1754, 
Died in London, July 29th, 1833. For nearly 
half a century member of the House of Commons, 
and for six Parliaments during that period, one of the two 
Representatives from Yorkshire. In an age and country fertile 
in great and good men, he was among the foremost of those who 
fixed the character of the times. Because to high and various tal- 
ents, to warm benevolence and universal candor, he added the 
abiding eloquence of a Christian life. Eminent as he was in 
every department of public labor, and a leader in every work of 
charity, whether to relieve the temporal or spiritual wants of his 
fellow-men, his name will be specially identified with those exer- 
tions which, by the blessing of God, removed from England the 
guilt of the African slave trade, and prepared the way for the 
abolition of slavery in every colony of the Empire. In the prose- 
cution of these objects, he relied, not in vain, upon God ; but in 
the progress, he was called to endure great obloquy and opposi- 
tion ; he outlived, however, all enmity, and in the evening of his 
days withdrew from public life and observation to the bosom of 
his family. Yet he died not unnoticed or forgotten by his coun- 
try : the Peers and Commons of England, with the Lord Chan- 
cellor and Speaker at their head in solemn procession from their 
respective houses carried him to his resting place among the 
mighty dead around here to repose, till through the merits of 
Jesus Christ his only Redeemer and Saviour (whom in his life 
and writings he had desired to glorify), he shall rise in the resur- 
rection of the just." 



The British Museum embraces a collection of As- 
syrian, Egyptian and Greco-Roman antiquities, be- 
sides an endless variety of specimens in Natural 
History, the whole being so extensive as to demand 
at least a week's time for a careful inspection. In 
the library, the reading-room of which is a magnifi- 
cent rotunda for the general convenience of the public, 
one can see autograph letters of Calvin, "Luther, Mary 
Queen of Scotts, and other distinguished personages; 
also, some of the earliest specimens of books (MSS.), 
dating back to the eleventh and twelfth centuries. 

In the famous tower of London — a massive stone 
building erected in the style of mediaeval castles, and 
situated on the Thames, with turrets and moat and 
port cullis — there is to be seen a superb assortment 
of weapons and armor of the olden time, with effigies 
of knights and royal attendants on horseback, all 
clad in heaviest coats of mail. Here is the room in 
which Sir Walter Raleigh was confined ten years, the 
block on which many victims of regal tyranny or 
mob violence have been beheaded, the executioner's 
axe, the thumbscrew, and other instruments of tor- 
ture. Here also is the room where the two young 
princes were smothered to death by their cruel father, 
Edward IV. In another apartment the husband of 
Lady Jane Grey was confined, and afterward led to 
the scaffold. 

Scratched by the prisoners upon the stone walls of 
this large cell are the following passages of Scrip- 
ture : ''Better it is to go to the house of mourning 
than to the house of banqueting." "The heart of 



the wise is in the mourning house." "It is better to 
have some chastening than overmuch liberty." 

I allude, in passing, to the Parliament building, an 
imposing pile of modern construction covering an 
area of many acres, stretching along the banks of the 
Thames; surmounted by the wonderful clock tower, 
whose four gigantic dials tell the time of day or 
night to nearly half of London; to the Thames tun- 
nel — a curious combination of engineering skill and 
financial folly — a passage-way cut under the river 
bed and arched over with brick. We also pay our re- 
spects to the Zoological Gardens, a grand menagerie, 
(called the " Zoo " for brevity) embracing every 
variety of bird and beast, and occupying a great park 
wherein each of the animals enjoys ample space to 
roam, entirely exempt from annoyance. 

Among the stately buildings of London, we would 
not forget to add to those already mentioned, Buck- 
ingham Palace, the city residence of England's noble 
Queen; the Royal Albert Hall, a monument to the 
late Prince Consort; Mansion House, the headquar- 
ters of the Lord Mayor; Guildhall, where the said 
Lord Mayor gives his annual banquet; Apsley 
House, on Hyde Park Corner, the home of the late 
Duke of Wellington ; the Bank of England, occupy- 
ing one square, and the Royal Gallery of Paintings, 
which, though not a success in an architectural point 
of view, is well Avorthy of a visit for its treasures of 
art. So, indeed, is the Kensington Museum, which 
contains a large collection of the paintings of Land- 
seer, Turner, Hogarth and West. 



Now for a short run into the suburbs of London : 
There is Sydenham, with its splendid Crystal Palace, 
the old Exhibition building of 185 1, removed and en- 
larged, comprising curiosities of all kinds, with speci- 
mens of various types of civilization, like the Egyp- 
tian chamber, and the Moorish or Alhambra, and so 
on. The grounds around this building are extensive 
and ornamental. At intervals one sees models of 
geologic monsters quietly reposing in cosy nooks. 
These models, designed by Mr. Waterhouse Hawkins, 
the eminent English naturalist, correspond to those 
in our Central Park, which under the regime of the 
Ring were demolished as unsightly and disgusting 
objects. 

At this Sydenham palace we are fortunate enough 
to attend the great Handel festival, where a chorus of 
four thousand (including vocal and instrumental per- 
formers) rendered selections from the immortal works 
of that composer. The impression made upon the 
mind by such a hearing of the Hallelujah chorus can 
never be effaced from memory. 

Here, be it remarked, that while Handel and Bach 
were fellow-countrymen, and born in the same year 
(16S5), Handel, by his long residence in England, 
grew so natural to that country as to become the 
virtual father of the English style of music, while 
Bach, by his great genius, earned for himself the title 
of the founder of the German school. 

Hampton Court, the ancient palace of Henry VIII., 
with its magnificent park, is a place no one should 
fail to see. Passing by its many features of interest, 



23 

I mention the natural curiosity of a grapevine in the 
conservatory, which, at the time of our visit, was 
ninety-six years old, and bore thirteen hundred clus- 
ters annually. 

At Kew Gardens one can see the finest botanical 
exhibition in the kingdom, consisting of exotic trees, 
plants and shrubs; a hot-house filled with every va- 
riety of the J>a/m, another exhibiting the cactus in all 
its species. There is but one more of the environs to 
which my time will allow me to refer, and that is 
Richmond Hill, a locality which, with its park — in 
all the primeval simplicity of its grand old oaks — 
and its distant view of the valley of the Thames, fur- 
nishes a scene of quiet beauty that cannot be sur- 
passed. 

As one saunters along through these grounds, the 
eye is attracted toward an inscription painted upon 
a wooden slab and fastened upon the trunk of one of 
the trees, as follows : 

LINES ON JAMES THOMSON, THE POET OF NATURE. 

" Ye who from London's smoke and turmoil fly, 
To seek a purer air and brighter sky, 
Think of the bard who dwelt in yonder dell, 
Who sang so sweetly what he loved so well. 
Think as ye gaze on these luxuriant bowers, 
Here Thomson loved the sunshine and the flowers, — 
He who could paint in all their varied forms 
April's young bloom, December's dreary storms. 
By yon fair stream which calmly glides along, 
Pure as his life, and lovely as his song — 
There oft he roved. In yonder churchyard lies 



24 



All of the deathless bard that ever dies, 
For here his%entle spirit lingers still, 
In yon sweet vale, on this enchanted hill, 
Flinging a holier influence o'er the grove, 
Stirring the heart to poetry and love ; 
Bidding us prize the favorite scenes he trod, 
And view in Nature's beauties, Nature's God. 



25 

IV. 
A SUNDAY IN LONDON. 



Before we bid farewell to the Metropolis, let us 
spend a Sabbath there in order to visit a few of the 
principal churches The morning of holy time has 
come, and we find ourselves standing with a crowd 
•' of people in front of Mr. Spurgeon's great Taber- 
nacle waiting, not for the moving of the waters as 
they of old at the pool of Bethesda, but for the open- 
ing of the gates admitting one to the enclosure im- 
mediately surrounding the church. 

The building, whose general style of architecture 
is very unlike the conventional standard of a sacred 
, edifice, has upon its facade a grand portico upheld by 
a row of high and massive columns, and surmount- 
ing the main roof a well-rounded and moderately 
imposing dome. 

On entering, one finds the interior arrangements 
of the auditorium in perfect keeping with the secular 
or even theatrical appearance of the exterior. 

There are two tiers of galleries extending around 
three sides of the room. Mr. Spurgeon, who, by the 
way. is a man of medium height, " thick-set " (to use 
a colloquialism), with smooth* and pleasant face, en- 
ters on a level with the first tier and takes his seat 
beside a little table. ' 

There is nothing which could be called a pulpit. 

* In his later years he has worn a full beard. 



26 

When the good man rises to speak or pray, he stands 
forth in view of the vast congregation (numbering 
not far from 7,000), with a simple rail before him, 
the open balustrade of the platform. 

In a perfectly unaffected and simple manner, with 
a clear and sonorous voice, he opens the exercises by 
an earnest invocation for the divine blessing. 

After announcing the hymn, which he repeats verse 
by verse as the people sing, a precentor steps for- 
ward on a platform below the minister (where also 
the deacons sit), arid "starts" the tune. There is no 
musical instrument in the house, yet in a moment 
after the leader has begun, a grand wave of harmony 
goes rolling over the assembly like the sound of 
many waters. 

The pastor accompanies the reading of Scripture 
with frequent expository remarks. In preaching, 
he uses no MSS., but waxes warm and eloquent over 
every subject which he undertakes to unfold from 
the word of God. 

Fluent of utterance, abundant in illustration, using 
language adapted to the understanding of common 
people, with a mind enriched by much reading of the 
old English divines, and a heart full of love for his 
fellow-men, Mr. Spurgeon so preaches Christ as to 
draw multitudes unto the cross. Long may he be 
spared to labor for his Master among the middling 
classes of London. There is special need of offering 
this prayer, now that he is suffering for a second or 
third time from a severe attack of disease. And no 
wonder that his powers are beginning to fail (though 



only in middle life), for, in addition to his pastoral 
work, he has, during many years, superintended the 
operations of a Theological Seminary connected with 
his church, besides editing a religious journal and 
publishing many volumes of sermons, together with 
a few miscellaneous productions of his pen. 

Dr. Camming is another of the distinguished met- 
ropolitan divines. He is a Scotchman, a fine scholar 
and pleasant speaker. His church edifice, situated 
in a very unattractive locality, on a narrow court or 
lane off the Strand, is quite small, not accommodat- 
ing at the highest estimate more than 500 hearers. 

The Doctor is much past his prime. * His style of 
preaching is simple and logical, besides thoroughly 
Scriptural; his prayers earnest, and full of feeling. 
Like Spurgeon, he comments freely in reading from 
the Bible. While listening to the forcible and evan- 
gelical utterances of this venerable divine, one cannot 
but regret that Dr. Camming should have been, in 
years past, led into such extreme views and dogmatic 
statements touching the fulfillment of prophecy as to 
suffer somewhat in his reputation for sound judg- 
ment, and impair, in a measure, his otherwise great 
influence for good. 

Passing by old Surrey Chapel, a strange looking 
polygonal building (virtually circular in shape), dark 
with age (and smoke), in which the sainted Rowland 
Hill used to preach, where the Rev. Newman Hall 
now proclaims the glad tidings, an edifice which is 
soon to give way to a new and more spacious meet- 
ing-house ; passing, also, by the Regent Square 

* Departed this life in 18S1. 



28 

Church, of which the late James Hamilton was the 
successful pastor for a quarter century, we will step 
into a very plain and unpretentious brick structure, 
to hear the Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel, a man of 
God, in whom there is no guile.* 

Here, a precentor occupies a small desk beneath 
that of the minister, and at the announcement of each 
hymn, holds up at the end of a long iron rod, a pla- 
card containing the number of the page on which the 
tune to be sung is found. 

A singular feature of the service in this church 
consists in the preaching of a short sermon to Chris- 
tians, followed by a hymn, after which the pastor 
rises in his place, and selecting another text, preaches 
a second and distinct discourse to those who make 
no profession of religion. 

Whether this peculiar arrangement is usually ob- 
served or not, I am unable to say. I only speak from 
personal observation on one occasion. 

Not to be guilty of religious dissipation (an ex- 
treme even in good things being undesirable, not to 
say sinful), we must content ourselves with attend- 
ance upon divine service in three churches out of the 
many where we should like to worship. f 

It is time for us to turn our faces toward the Con- 

* Also deceased a few years since. 

f If we were making the trip at the present date, we should 
hear Newman Hall in his splendid new church, whose Lincoln 
tower makes the associations of the place dear to all Americans ; 
we should listen to Dr. Joseph Parker in his fine City Temple for 
the people ; we should also sit charmed by the sacred eloquence of 
the late Dean Stanley's successor at Westminster, or of Canon 
Farrar at St. Paul's. 



2 9 

tinent; yet an American cannot leave the soil of the 
mother country without regret. True, we did not feel 
very cordially disposed toward Englishmen during 
and for a long time after our national struggle on ac- 
count of their indifference to the result of the con- 
flict, or else their decided partiality toward the 
South ; yet we are satisfied that the fault of that par- 
tiality was in many instances with the head more 
than with the heart. At all events we are willing to 
let by-gones be by-gones, and especially since the 
manly expression of regret from the British Govern- 
ment, and the result of the Geneva Arbitration, we 
can shake hands right heartily with our English 
cousins and pledge to them eternal friendship. 
" What God hath joined together, let no man put 
asunder." There is something truly admirable in 
the average type of manhood and womanhood too, 
which one finds in England. There is a fine phys- 
ique among the inhabitants of that land, a sturdy 
good judgment, and genuine moral worth deserving 
of much praise. A trifle too phlegmatic, perhaps, to 
suit our gushing American nature, yet nevertheless 
sensible to the last. Instead of declaring a thing 
"perfectly splendid," " exquisitely fine," and "mag- 
nificently superb," they are satisfied with such expres- 
sions as "pretty good," and "very clever," and "right 
well done." (Between you and me, isn't that the bet- 
ter way of talking?) Another item : the English are 
not forever "guessing" that this or that thing is so. 
They tell us that a Yankee is always recognized by 
that word in his conversation more than by any 



30 

other. (Let's you and I, dear reader, take a new de- 
parture by quitting the freqiient use of this term, and 
substitute for it "I reckon," or "I fancy," or "I think" 
— anything but this everlasting guess, guess, guess.) 

It would be pleasant to run out to Windsor Castle 
and pay our respects to Her Majesty; or over to 
Stratford-on-Avon, the home of the immortal Shak- 
speare ; or up to Oxford, the great seat of learning; 
or down to Brighton, on the sea, a great watering 
place, the town where the gifted Robertson once 
preached to his "brother-men;" or across "South- 
ampton water" to the lovely Isle of Wight, where 
lived and died the good Leigh Richmond, and his 
parishioners, the "Dairyman's Daughter," and the 
" Young Cottager ;" but we cannot spend the time, 
so bidding adieu to the shores of Old England, we 
watch the chalky cliffs of Dover recede from view, 
while our little steamer ploughs its way over the 
boisterous channel, making what has been called the 
"sic transit" with very little of the "gloria mundi" 
thrown in (but a good deal thrown out), and as we 
round to at the quay of Boulogne, and going on 
shore hear on all sides a babel of voices speaking 
"in accents of an unknown tongue," we begin thor- 
oughly to realize, for the first time since leaving 
the American coast, that we are in a foreign coun- 
try — far, far from home. After a few hours' ride 
through a comparatively uninteresting tract of land, 
we arrive safely in Paris. 

I reserve a description of this beautiful, fascina- 
ting, gay and godless city for the next letter. 



3i 

V. 
PARIS. 

The contrast is very great between the general ap- 
pearance of London and that of Paris. Coming with- 
out delay from the one to the other, seems to the 
traveler like emerging suddenly from darkness into 
light. 

There, a thick smoky haze (before mentioned), 
added to the naturally damp air, makes every object 
dark and gloomy; here, a bright and clear atmos- 
phere, perfectly free from smoke, imparts a cheerful 
aspect to the buildings, which, as a whole, are the 
very picture of neatness and good taste. Like Lon- 
don, Paris is bi-sected by a river — the Seine — a kind 
of twin sister to the muddy Thames. But one for- 
gets this feature of the scene in admiration of the 
many highly ornamental bridges of iron and stone 
which seem by their lightness of design and sym- 
metry of proportion to float upon the water's surface. 

Nearly everything in earth and air combines to 
render Paris a city of fairy-like enchantment. 

The only exception to this remark must be found 
in the destructive work accomplished by the dreadful 
Commune during the few weeks of its regime. 

The improvements wrought by the late Emperor, 
Napoleon III., with the aid of his Supervising Archi- 
tect, Haussmann, made Paris, which had been attrac- 



32 

tive before, one of the finest, if not the chief of all 
European cities in point of beauty as well as size. 

Crooked streets were straightened; narrow ones 
widened; public places ornamented with fountains 
and statuary, and every possible device resorted to 
which could please the eye and charm the aesthetic 
taste of Frenchmen. 

The Rivoli, laid out in arrow-like line, with uni- 
form houses on the one side, and the Palace of the 
Louvre and Tuileries on the other, is one of the most 
imposing of these streets. 

Then, there are the Boulevards, from 200 to 300 
feet wide, extending around the city in the elongated 
arc of a circle, lined with shade trees, the center 
spread with concrete, always filled with rapidly- 
moving vehicles; the spacious sidewalks occupied 
by lively and chatty people enjoying themselves in 
the promenade, or sitting in groups around their 
little tables at the cafes, sipping their wine or par- 
taking of refreshments. 

In the days preceding the Commune, the Imperial 
Palace, called the Tuileries, was the grandest and 
largest structure in the city. Eligibly situated on 
the Seine, and joined to the Louvre, it made an im- 
mense hollow parallelogram of buildings of almost 
fabulous extent. I cannot give the length in feet, 
but I am not afraid of exaggerating the facts when I 
say that one would have to walk a mile in order to 
compass the entire structure. The Louvre end of 
the enclosure is laid out as an exquisite Mower gar- 
den, and the Tuileries end— called the Place du Car- 



33 

rousel — is paved with stone, and used to be reserved 
for those grand military reviews in which the quon- 
dam Emperor loved so much to indulge, not only 
to set forth his own glory, but also to please the ex- 
citable and restive populace. 

In a straight line northwest from the palace gar- 
den is situated the large open space known as the 
Place de la Concorde, in the center of which stands 
the obelisk of Luxor, a solid monolith of variegated 
marble, weighing hundreds of tons, transported by 
the First Napoleon all the way from Egypt,* and 
erected by a triumph of mechanical genius, (the 
/nodus operandi of which is engraved in a picture upon 
the pedestal,) on the spot where stood the fearful 
guillotine in the bloody days of the Revolution of 
1789. As one takes his station at this point and 
looks north, he sees, but a few blocks distant, the 
Church of the Madeleine, an exquisite specimen of 
an ancient Grecian temple, 328 feet in length and 
138 in breadth, surrounded on all sides with a double 
colonnade of fluted Corinthian pillars, 49 feet high 
and 16 in circumference. To the east is the garden 
of the Tuileries, already mentioned. Looking south 
across the Seine, the eye rests upon the Hall of the 
Corps Legislatif, another stone building of Grecian 
design; and westward is seen the grand vista of the 
Champs Elysees (Elysian fields), stretching on for a 

* A grander proof of enterprise and engineering skill is the 
recent transportation of Cleopatra's needle from Egypt to Amer- 
ica, and its erection in Central Park. 

3 



34 

mile or upwards in a gradual ascent, with a pro- 
fusion of trees on either side, winding walks, caf< : s. 
and amusements of every kind for the million, from 
a Punch and Judy exhibition for the children, up to 
the open-air concerts of Musard and the famous 
Cirque for the older juveniles. This Circus used to 
be called il de V Imperatrice" but since the poor Empress 
was compelled to flee for her life from the palace 
where her beauty was wont to shine, that appellation 
lias been removed. I might add that every street and 
public building which bore the name of Napoleon 
III., or any of his family, has since the inauguration 
of the present government received a new designa- 
tion. Crowning the eminence at the extreme end of 
the Champs Elysees, is the colossal arch of triumph, 
sometimes called Arch of the Star, erected by the 
First Napoleon in celebration of his great victories 
over the Austrians and Prussians. Its total height 
is 152 feet, width 137, and depth 68. About a mile 
and a half west of the Triumphal Arch is the Bois de 
Boulogne, a park which was beautiful with its lakes 
and cascades, bowers and pagodas, parterres of shrubs 
and flowers, and miniature forests, before the Prus- 
sian siege played such havoc with it ; but sufficient 
has already been accomplished toward restoring the 
park to its former beauty to make it a charming 
place of resort.* 

Not far from the arch, a little to the north, stands 

* The other relics of those dark days of 1871 are fast disappear- 
ing under the beneficent rule of the Republic. 



one of the most curious and costly of the buildings 
of Paris — the Russian (or Greek) Church. 

Designed in the peculiar style of Oriental archi- 
tecture, small in its dimensions and unique in its 
proportions, it is most lavishly ornamented with 
heavy gold work both without and within. One feels 
like asking with Judas — though with a better spirit 
than his — "To what purpose was this waste?" 

In this quarter of the city there is a little gem of 
ground, called the Pare Monceaux, which deserves 
mention, not alone for its intrinsic loveliness, but 
also for the rarity of such places — even in this beauti- 
ful city. 

The Mausoleum of the great Napoleon, called the 
Invalides (receiving its name from the large military 
hospital and infirmary adjoining it), is an imposing 
edifice overtopped by a lofty dome, in the crypt un- 
derneath which is an immense stone sarcophagus in- 
tended for the remains of the illustrious dead, while 
the body really lies in one of the side chapels of the 
building. 

Over the doorway leading into the crypt are in- 
scribed in gold letters upon a background of black 
marble, these touching words, taken from the last will 
and testament of the vanquished victor, written at St. 
Helena : " Je desire que mes cendres reposenl sur les bords 
de la Seine, au milieu de ce peuple Fran^ais, que fai tant 
aime." "I desire that my ashes should repose on the 
banks of the Seine, in the midst of this French people 
whom I have loved so much." It is pleasant to find 
that this simple and natural wish of the dying exile 



36 

has been gratified. But what a lesson is one taught 
of the vanity of human greatness and the folly of 
worldly ambition as he stands by the tomb which 
contains all that was mortal of the conqueror who 
made the nations of Europe tremble at his approach. 
Truly has the poet written — 

" The path of glory leads but to the grave." 

This departed warrior reached, indeed, the highest 
summit of military renown; yet, like that man of 
peace* who has so recently gone from us, his vaulting 
ambition o'erleaped itself; he failed; then, he died of 
a broken heart. 

Of all the great churches of Paris, it is difficult to 
say which is the finest. The Pantheon ranks among 
the first, in the symmetry of its outline and the artis- 
tic elegance of its general finish. In the vault of this 
church lie the remains of Voltaire and Mirabeau. 
From the apex of the dome, at a height of 450 feet, 
one obtains the grandest possible view of the vast city. 

The most interesting for its historic associations, 
as well as for its majestic effect, is the old Cathedral 
of Notre Dame, situated upon an island in the Seine. 
The process of its erection occupied about 300 years. 
It was at last completed in 1420, a few enlargements 
and improvements having been made in more recent 
days. 

It was in this Cathedral that the goddess of Reason 
was once worshiped in the person of a beautiful 
courtesan. Its walls have echoed with the impas- 

* Horace Greeley. 



37 

sioned eloquence of Massilon and Bourdaloue of the 
olden time, and La Cordaire and Hyacinthe of a 
later day. 

I have already mentioned the Madeleine. I might 
also dwell upon the beauties of other churches like 
St. Sulpice, St. Roch, St. Eustache and St. Etienne 
du Mont, but will not weary my readers with these 
details. I must, however, in addition, speak the 
name of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, opposite the 
Louvre, in the tower of which still swings the identi- 
cal bell used by order' of the infamous Catherine de 
Medici to ring out the signal for the commencement 
of the massacre of the Huguenots on the bloody day 
of St. Bartholomew. 

There is also the little St. Chapelle, a perfect bijou 
of a chapel, its walls composed of the most gorgeous 
stained glass, with only just a sufficient number of 
stone uprights between the windows to sustain the 
lofty roof and tapering spire. 

It was built in the year 1242 by Saint Louis, as a 
depository for the reputed crown of thorns worn by 
our Saviour. 

One must not leave Paris without paying a visit to 
the extensive art galleries of the Louvre; the Lux- 
embourg Palace with its Senate Hall and Throne 
room, regal in their magnificence of marble and gold, 
velvet and damask ; the Hotel de Ville, grand even 
in its ruin,* where Robespierre held his blood-thirsty 
council in the "reign of terror;" where Louis Phil- 
ippe in 1830 was presented to the French nation by 
* Since restored to its old beauty. 



3S 

Lafayette, and where Lamartine, in 1840, nobly ex- 
posed his life, and declared that "as long as he lived 
the red flag should never be the flag of France." 

There is the Conciergerie, across the Seine from 
the Hotel de Ville, the old prison with its heavy 
round towers, containing the cell where the unfort- 
unate Queen Marie Antoinette was incarcerated, and 
the chamber in which the Girondists held their last 
banquet before they were led to execution; the col- 
umn of July, as it is called, which stands on the site 
of the old Bastile; the Column Vendome, upon which 
the Communists wreaked their vengeance, because it 
was crowned with a statue of the great Napoleon, 
and all made out of the bronze melted from the can- 
non he had captured in battle; the Gobelin tapes- 
tries — a manufactory of carpet pictures — wonderful 
to behold, established by Gobelin in 1450, and after- 
ward taken under royal patronage by Louis XIV.; 
the Jardin des Plantes, a great botanical and zoologi- 
cal collection ; and finally, Pere la Chaise, that city 
of the dead, where one sees a great number of monu- 
ments — though few large and imposing — all crowned 
with wreaths called immortelles. 

If we had time to spend a day at Versailles, we 
should see in the palace (a building 1,800 feet long) 
an immense array of battle scenes, painted by Horace 
Vernet ; and in the grounds the grand and petit Tri- 
anon, the homes of Hortense and Josephine, besides 
the most elaborate series of fountains perhaps in the 
world; and to crown all, the exquisite (though too 
artistic) trimming of the abundant foliage. If we 



39 

should step into the theatre we might possibly find 
the Republican Legislature in session, and hear a 
speech from that wiry little old man, M. Thiers.* 

I spoke of Paris in my last letter as godless. Alas! 
that term is only too applicable to the French as a 
people, for "Paris is France." The Sabbath with 
them is a holiday. True, God has some chosen ones 
there, but what are they among so many who trample 
on His laws, and even deny His existence? Well 
did Charles Sumner once reply to Gambetta, when 
asked by the Frenchman : " Why cannot France main- 
tain a Republic?" "Because she has no religion." 

Vain, indeed, is the attempt of any nation to sus- 
tain free institutions like ours without laying their 
foundations broad and deep upon the Bible, as their 
sure and tried corner-stone. 

May God infuse into the hearts of the French peo- 
ple — naturally possessing many noble qualities — that 
love of the right and hatred of the wrong which can 
alone make their present liberty permanent. f 

* Long ago deceased. 

f It is gratifying at this later date to witness the continued ex- 
istence and apparent prosperity of the Republican experiment in 
France. May not a part of its success be traced to the spread of 
true religion in that country? The grand Protestant uprising, 
whose fruits are to be seen in the McAll evangelizing work in 
Paris, and the labors of the "Mission Interieure" with the gifted 
Reveillaud as one of the coadjutors ; this explains, at least in 
part, the present situation. Well may all true Americans pray 
for the perpetuity of the French Republic, on the basis of a pure 
Christianity. 



4 o 



VI. 



COLOGNE AND THE RHINE TO 
SWITZERLAND. 



I propose in this letter to conduct my fellow-voy- 
agers from place to place as rapidly as I may without 
exhausting them, or surfeiting them with the many 
objects of interest which claim at least a passing 
notice. 

Brussels, where we now find ourselves, the capital 
of Belgium, is sometimes called a miniature Paris. 
There are many things which remind one of the great 
city he has just left; an air of beauty, of neatness, of 
gaiety, of finesse about the tout ensemble, with its Ca- 
thedral, Palais Royal. Hotel de Ville, Column of 
July, bronze equestrian statue of Godfrey de Bouil- 
lon, and Arcade of St. Hubert. 

A carriage ride of about six miles from the city 
brings one to the ever memorable field of Waterloo, 
which is marked by a great pyramidal mound, at the 
apex of which stands a huge lion carved from stone — 
the famous old British lion himself — in all his ma- 
jesty and glory. We had heard of him before, but 
never saw the genuine article till we looked up into 
his face from the foot of that monumental mound. 

When one is in Brussels he is only an hour dis- 
tant, by rail, from Antwerp. A day's excursion 
thither gives one a fair amount of time to see the 



41 

city, the great feature of which is the Cathedral, with 
its matchless tower, the tallest as well as the most 
symmetrical in all Europe, gracefully tapering from 
point to point till it reaches the dizzy altitude of 466 
feet. In this building are to be seen the two great 
master-pieces of Rubens — The Elevation to and 
Descent from the Cross. 

A choice private gallery of paintings contains 
specimens of the genius of Van Dyck, Murillo, 
Raphael and Claude Lorraine, besides a few of Ru- 
bens' pictures. 

In the Church of St. Daniel stands a most elaborate 
pulpit, carved in oak, and representing in life size 
figures the miraculous draught of fishes. In the 
grounds adjoining the church of St. Paul, there is a 
gross representation of Mt. Calvary, the denial of 
Peter, Purgatory and Hell, all of plaster, and made 
by the monks, who certainly might have been in bet- 
ter business. Such things only illustrate the truth 
of the couplet of good old Isaac Watts about Satan 
finding mischief for idle hands to do. The stream of 
blood which issued from the Saviour's side in the 
Crucifixion, is here represented by a piece of iron 
wire bent into a curvilinear shape, and painted 
crimson. 

Antwerp is a quaint old city, with its tiled roofs 
and antique gables; its open-air bazars and pictur- 
esque market women. The citadels and docks built 
in 1S13 by Napoleon relieve it somewhat of its oth- 
erwise mediaeval aspect. 

At Cologne, whither we come in about seven hours 



42 

from Brussels, the only object of note is the great 
Dom-Kirche, which has been any number of cen- 
turies in building and is not near completion yet — 
so far, at least, as the tower is concerned.* It is the 
most perfect specimen of the pure Gothic, on dit, in 
Europe. There are some very sacred (?) relics — 
bones and things — exhibited to the visitor in this 
cathedral for a consideration, but as we can see bet- 
ter looking skeletons than these in any anatomical 
museum without paying for the sight, we will agree 
to let them pass. 

Now for the Rhine, on whose banks — in this city 
of Koln (as the natives spell it) — we have been so- 
journing over night. 

* In 1880 the entire structure was finished. Of it Dr. Storrs, 
in the exordium of his oration on Wycliffe, says : " On the left 
bank of the Rhine, on the site of the ancient Roman camp, after- 
ward an Imperial colony, which is associated in history with 
Tiberius and Germanicus, with Agrippina, mother of Nero, 
and with the early fame of Trajan, has been recently completed a 
magnificent work of art, of which more than six centuries have 
witnessed the progress. After delays immensely protracted, after 
such changes in society and government, in letters, arts, and in 
prevalent forms of religious faith that the age which saw its sol- 
emn foundations has come to seem almost mythical to us, by 
contributions in which people have vied with princes, and in 
which separated countries and communions have gladly united, 
the Cathedral of Cologne has been carried to its superb consum- 
mation, and the last finial has been set upon the spires, which at 
length fulfill the architect's design. It is impossible not to re- 
joice that the common sentiments of beauty and of worship sur- 
vive the changes of civilization, so that distant centuries join 
hands in the work now finished and crowned." 



43 

We embark on one of the river steamers (an im- 
provement on those which ply up and down the 
Thames) for a day of rare enjoyment. 

Passing by Bonn, the city of one of Germany's 
best universities, we approach, after an hour or so, 
the mountainous region of the Rhine. The range 
called the Seven Mountains first attracts our atten- 
tion. From that point on for a long stretch, say 75 
miles, the traveler is kept on the qui vive watching 
the new views which break upon his vision as 
the steamer follows the winding course of the river, 
and as one castle-crowned and vine-terraced mountain 
after another looms up before him. I need only mention 
a few of these ruined towers, as Drachenfels (Dragon 
rock), near Bonn ; Rheinfels, at St. Goar, the great- 
est ruin of the Rhine, and Ehrenfels (Honor's rock), 
near Bingen. Ehrenbreitstein (Honor's broad stone) 
is an immense fortress of modern construction oppo- 
site Coblentz. It is built on a rock 380 feet above 
above the river, and mounts 400 cannon. From its 
ramparts one has a grand view of the Rhine, as it 
pursues its tortuous way through the mountains, and 
the "beautiful blue Moselle" which flows into the 
Rhine at Coblentz. From this high and imposing 
station the Prussian troops had the best of all oppor- 
tunities to keep up that famous " Wacht am Rhein," 
of which they were so fond of singing during the late 
war with France. 

Stolzenfels, a few miles above Coblentz, which is 
more like a palace than a castle, is situated on a com- 
manding eminence, and is most beautifully embow- 



44 

ered in the foliage which clings to the spur or the 
mountain. After passing Bingen — "Sweet Bingen 
on the Rhine" — the banks of the river assume a flat 
and uninteresting appearance. 

We debark at Mayence, and, taking cars, make 
Heidelberg our next place of sojourning. 

This university town, on the banks of the Neckar, 
a tributary of the Rhine, is chiefly noted for its exten- 
sive Chateau, perched aloft upon the mountain, and 
seeming almost ready to drop down upon the city 
beneath. The castle is the most picturesque and ex- 
tensive ruin in all that land, so famous for such relics 
of the olden time; yet it must be confessed that for a 
ruin this Chateau is kept in better repair than most 
of the castles on the Rhine. As you walk from one 
to another of these grand old baronial halls at Hei- 
delberg, it is not very difficult for the imagination to 
picture to itself some brilliant banquet there being 
given by the Elector Palatine to the lords and ladies 
of his acquaintance, with jewels flashing, and silks 
rustling, and wit coruscating, and wine sparkling, 
and all going "merry as a marriage bell." 

The great wine tun, 82 feet long by 22 high, in one 
of the apartments, is a curiosity worth looking at, 
and worth telling of after one has seen it. 

The University students form a conspicuous feature 
among the persons one meets in the streets of Heidel- 
berg. With their little round caps, colored red, 
white, green or yellow, corresponding to the various 
years of the course, without front-piece, and placed 



45 

upon the forehead, almost touching the eyebrows, they 
make a curious appearance. 

But one cannot help being shocked as he notes on 
so many faces of these students unsightly scars from 
sword thrusts received in the duels which so fre- 
quently occur; and what is worse, these scars are 
worn not as a sign of disgrace, but as a mark of 
honor. 

In passing by rail from Heidelberg to Baden- 
Baden, one can see as he approaches the town of 
Kehl, in the distance across the Rhine, the spires of 
Strasbourg, that city of the great Prussian bombard- 
ment, and overtopping all, the lofty roof and sky- 
scraping tower of the Cathedral, which fortunately 
received but little injury from the shells of the be- 
sieging army. Baden-Baden, nestled in a lovely 
valley and made beautiful by nature and art, has 
been, till recently, famous (or infamous) for the great 
gambling palace where so many fortunes have been 
lost and won at roulette, rouge et noir and vingt et un. 
Happily, at last, for the reputation of the place, and 
of the government, too, which has licensed its opera- 
tions, this grand faro-bank has been compelled by 
law to close its doors. Henceforth that beautiful 
"Conversation House" (as it has been euphoniously 
called) will witness no more wrecks of character or 
ruins of hope wrought by the ill success of those 
who had been lured on to venture one gold piece 
after another until all their property was swept into 
the insatiable maw of the devouring monster. The 
walks and grounds about this building are exceed- 



4 6 

ingly fine. The scene presented on a summer even- 
ing by the groups of ladies and gentlemen, some sit- 
ting on the piazza of the "Conversation House," 
others promenading, and yet others within the mag- 
nificent room around the gaming table, while the 
Prussian band discoursed its sweetest music in the 
" Kiosque " for the entertainment of all, used to be 
fascinating in the extreme. 

The view from the Alte Schloss (old castle) on the 
mountain overlooking the town, and the examination 
of the ruin itself, amply repay one for the toil of 
climbing to the summit. 

From Baden we pass on to Basle, and from Basle 
to Lucerne, where we make our first acquaintance 
with Switzerland. In many respects Lucerne is the 
gem of this country — certainly so far as lake scenery 
is concerned. 

We take boat to VVeggis, whence the ascent of the 
Righi begins — a mountain 5,500 feet high — from 
whose "Kulm" is obtained a superb panoramic 
view of the whole Bernese Oberland, an unbroken 
chain of snow-clad peaks extending around one 
quarter of the entire horizon. Here we see those 
summits lighted up by the last golden-tinted rays of 
the setting sun, then twilight deepening into dark- 
ness. Here we pass the flight in a hotel accommo- 
dating 200 guests, and after a comfortable sleep we 
are awakened at 4^2 a. m. by the sound of the Alpine 
horn. Rising in haste, we go forth to watch the 
ruddy hues of the morning light as they paint the 
mountain tops and penetrate the valleys, and glisten 



47 

on the surface of the lakes which lie in great abund- 
ance — thousands of feet below and around us. 

Descending to Weggis we re-embark on our little 
steamer and sail to the eastern end of the lake, where 
the mountains seem to close in upon us, sweeping 
with almost perpendicular abruptness down to the 
very water's edge. They are no every-day moun- 
tains, either, as witness old Bristenstock, 9,900 feet 
to the top, and others in proportion. 

At Altdorf we find a colossal statue of William 
Tell, erected on the spot where, they say, he shot the 
apple from his son's head; and in the little town of 
Burgeln, his reputed birth-plnce, is a quaint chapel 
bearing his name; near by, also, is a roaring torrent, 
where, according to tradition, Tell once saved a child 
from drowning. In view of all these legends about 
that man, what a pity it is that the iconoclasts of our 
day are trying (and with some show of reason) to 
prove that no such character ever existed. 

Towering high over the town of Lucerne is the old 
Pilate Mountain, so named from the strange tradi- 
tion that the ghost of the guilty Roman govern.or 
lingers about its summit. 

Walking a little way up the Zurich road, one sud- 
denly confronts the singular yet majestic monument 
to the memory of the Swiss guards, who were massa- 
cred in Paris for trying to defend Queen Marie An- 
toinette from the hands of the mob, August, 1792. It 
consists of a gigantic lion carved on the face of a 
great rock by the famous Danish sculptor, Thor- 
waldsen, and finished in 1821. The animal (28 feet 



long and 18 high) is represented as dying from the 
effect of a spear-thrust in his side. The expression 
of the countenance is full of pain. The Cathedral, 
with its two beautifully tapering spires, and its rich 
organ containing an exquisite Vox Humana stop, is 
worthy of notice. In one of the towers there is a 
deep-toned bell whose reverberations sound grandly 
among the mountains. Upon that bell are inscribed 
the following appropriate words, in most musical 
Latin : 

" Vivos voco, 
Mortuos plango, 
Fulgura frango," 

which being translated means — 

" I summon the living, 
I bemoan the dead, 
I dissipate lightnings." 



49 

VII. 
INTERLACHEN, GENEVA AND CHAMOUNI. 

Leaving Lucerne by private conveyance (called cal- 
eche in the language of the country), we pursue our 
journey past Alpnacht and Lungern, and the Sarnen 
Sea, over the Brunig pass to Brienz. 

The trip occupies one day and is full of interest. 
It is useless to try to reproduce to one who has never 
visited Switzerland the impressions made upon the 
mind of an observant traveler by the sight of these 
towering snow-mountains and peaceful green valleys. 
The view, as one stands at the highest point of the 
Brunig and looks down into the vale of Meyringen, 
is simply indescribable. 

But as we have only just begun our tour through 
this land of the Switzers, it will be best for me to 
measure my words very carefully lest I exhaust all 
the expletives and adjectives in my vocabulary be- 
fore we have accomplished half the journey. 

Brienz is a small place lying at the head of the lake 
of the same name, where we spend the night in a com- 
fortable and cozy little inn. Sailing across the lake 
after supper, we ascend the mountain a few hundred 
feet to a plateau whereon stands another hotel, in full 
view of the famous Giessbach Fall. The view, how- 
ever, is not very "full " just now, for in the darkness 
of the night we can only just descry its dim outline 
4 



50 

away up the mountain side. But we have come to see 
the fall illuminated, so having paid the exhibition fee, 
we take our seats in the hotel ground and wait with 
the rest to witness the illumination. After a while 
we see lights moving up the mountain, one after an- 
other, each assuming the position assigned for it, 
until a half-dozen points from the highest to the low- 
est part of the fall are occupied. All ready, bang \ 
goes the signal gun, when presto change! and the 
entire series of cascades is ablaze with parti-colored 
light — the first fall blue, the second red, the third 
orange, the fourth violet, and so on. 

The whole series, called the Giessbach Fall, con- 
sists of five or six different cascades coming down 
like a stairway from the top of a high mountain. 
Behind each of these, a man takes his stand with a 
Bengal light, and at a given moment the whole Fall 
is illuminated. The effect is magical; I think I must 
add magnificent, even if I do want that word to de- 
scribe something further on. The next morning we 
sail down to Interlachen, that charming village situa- 
ted as its name indicates, " between lakes," Brienz 
and Thun (pronounced Tune). 

This place is quite a favorite and fashionable resort 
for English families, and abounds in pleasant hotels 
n\\<\ pensions (boarding houses). 

I might as well say here, en passant, that hotel life 
in Europe is very different from the American style, 
especially in the matter of parlor accommodations. 
Except in the case of a very few which have borrowed 
a good idea from us, there is no public parlor where 



51 

all the guests have an equal right to " make them- 
selves at home." One must go from his room to the 
dining hall and thence back to his room again unless 
he choose rather to saunter forth upon the piazza or 
into the streets for a promenade. 

The charges at these foreign hotels are not particu- 
larly modest (I don't know, however, as we Ameri- 
cans have much to boast of in that direction).* 
Just think of paying roundly for meals and lodg- 
ings, and then having to lay down an extra franc (20 
cents) for every bougie (candle) burnt, the poorest kind 
of tallow at that. But it is useless for any one to go 
abroad unless he provide himself before starting with 
a very large supply of patience. Without this he will 
be in some kind of " hot water " all the time : Avhen 
his trouble is not with hotel proprietors, there will be 
enough to annoy him in the frequent examinations 
of baggage by impudent custom-house officials, who 
chatter away in an unknown tongue while they search 
one's effects, and who, of course, do not understand 
the traveler when he endeavors to remonstrate mildly 
in good English. The scene which meets one's gaze 
in any of those foreign douanes (as they call them), on 
the frontier lines between different countries, is worthy 
of the pencil of Nast. I wish he would tryhis hand on 

* An American traveling in Europe was once remonstrating 
with his valet de place on the high prices of hotels abroad, when 
the valet answered : " Oh ! monsieur, I have seen ze world from 
ze cataracts of ze Nile to ze cataract of Niagara, and I tell you, 
in your country, you go ze furthest and see ze least and pay ze 
most of any land I ever was in." 



52 

the subject some time, depicting, as he only can, the lu- 
gubrious expressions of countenance exhibited espe- 
cially by the ladies as they see their nicely-packed 
trunks ruthlessly rummaged over, and left looking 
like a crow's nest, or something worse. 

But where were we ? Oh ! yes — Interlachen. Well, 
there, right in front of the town, as it would seem, 
but really fifteen or twenty miles distant, looms up to 
the height of 13,600 feet, the virgin white and exquis- 
itely outlined Jungfrau, its peak as sharp in appear- 
ance as the point of a needle. Many delightful 
excursions are made from Interlachen to Grindel- 
wald, Lauterbrimnen and other localities, but we pass 
on by boat over Lake Thun to the quaint old city of 
that name, thence to Berne, the capitol of Switzerland, 
where the bears (as the word Berne signifies), are to 
be seen in all their glory; not only the living animal 
in the grand " pit," provided by the city authorities 
for the benefit of old bruin, but statues large and 
small in public places and shop windows. 

Tradition has it that the founder of the city once 
performed the wonderful feat of slaying a bear, so 
ever since, as if to make amends for such cruelty, the 
inhabitants have given themselves up to a supersti- 
tious and senseless reverence for said quadruped. In 
the Museum here, one is shown the stuffed skin of 
the noble dog " Barry," who, in the course of his 
eventful life rescued some twenty-five travelers from 
death in the snow-drifts of St. Bernard pass. 

The Protestant Cathedral is a fine structure — begun 



53 

in 142 1 — and has a famous bronze bas relief upon its 
main door, representing the Last Judgment. 

From Berne to Lausanne, is an easy ride via Frei- 
burg, where we might hear, if we had time to rest, 
the most celebrated organ in Europe — at least such 
has been its reputation in past days. Lausanne, a 
stirring town of 20,000 inhabitants, is situated on 
high ground, about a mile from the shore of Lake 
Leman (as Geneva is sometimes called), about mid- 
way between the two extremes of that lovely sheet 
of water. 

It was here that Gibbon, the historian, wrote his 
great life-work — " The Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire." 

At Clarens, also, a village near the end of the lake, 
and in the very midst of its grandest scenery, where 
we spend a few quiet days, Byron composed his 
famous poem — "Prisoner of Chillon," within sight 
of the old castle which lifts its turreted walls and 
" snow-white battlements " in grim yet picturesque 
outline above the clear and shining waters. Going 
through the cold and cavernous interior of this 
Chateau — built in 1236 — we see the stone pillar to 
which Bonivard, the prisoner above mentioned — 
one of the Reformers of the 16th century — was con- 
fined for six years by a chain about five feet long. 
He was finally relieved from his painful thralldom by 
his friends, the Savoyards, who captured the strong- 
hold in 1536. 

But, the steamer is waiting for us, so jumping 
aboard we find ourselves gliding swiftly down the 



54 

lake, whose crystalline and bluish-green surface rip- 
ples and dances in the merry sunlight. 

Making a few landings on the way, four hours and 
a-half bring us to the pier at Geneva, the city of Cal- 
vin, Prince of the Reformers. 

While many of the buildings, especially' those front- 
ing on the lake, present a very new and Frenchy 
appearance, having been recently erected by Parisian 
capitalists, other parts of the city still retain their 
ancient aspect, and the grand old Cathedral, in which 
Calvin so often preached, still lifts its moss-grown 
towers toward heaven as if in silent protest against 
the moral decadence of the people who admire the 
writings and character of an infidel like Jean Jacques 
Rousseau sufficiently to erect in memoriam a life-size 
marble statue in one of the most conspicuous and 
commanding positions they could find. It stands on 
a little island in the lake, connected by a bridge of 
exquisite workmanship, with both halves of the city. 

We make our way to the cemetery, situated a little 
way out, principally for the purpose of visiting the 
last resting place of John Calvin, the great theologian. 
After searching about the grounds for a long time, 
looking as one naturally would, for some fine marble 
slab or monumental device, we at last almost stumble 
over a plain stone block, about two and a-half feet 
high, and one foot square, bearing upon its upper sur- 
face the initial letters, " J. C," as the only evidence of 
the identity of the precious dust that lies beneath. Do 
you ask why this neglect? Why such dishonor to 
the memory of so good and great a man ? It is but 



55 

the fulfillment to the letter of his desire, plainly ex- 
pressed in his dying hour. Such was his austerity of 
character, he wanted no parade at his funeral, and no 
monument over his grave. 

Calvin's great " Institutes of the Christian Relig- 
ion," and his Commentaries on the Bible, constitute 
a monument to his memory more lasting and more 
precious than 

" Marble bust or storied urn." 

There is something worthy of special remark 
about the sparkling clearness of the waters of the 
river Rhone, the outlet of Lake Geneva, and also 
the singular phenomenon presented by the confluence 
of the Rhone and the Arve — the one a rich blue, the 
other a thick, muddy stream from the glaciers, and 
each retaining for a long distance its distinctive 
appearance by a line of demarcation as clear cut as 
the horizon at sunset. 

Now we are off for Chamouni in one of the old 
diligences (or stage coaches), of this country, an ancient 
kind of institution, not to say peculiar: a great un- 
wieldy, awkward, two-storied vehicle, with four or 
five separate compartments above and below, capable 
of accommodating twenty-five people, or thirty at the 
utmost. Six horses, three abreast, constitute the pro- 
pelling power of the lumbering concern. These 
compartments are called the Coupe, Banquette and 
Landau, and underneath the latter, at the rear of the 
diligence, is a dark place where I was told they stow 
away "dead-heads." Heavy and cumbrous though 



56 

the establishment is, we seem to get over the ground 
very quickly, and what with the musical jingling of 
the horses' bells, and the frequent and loud cracking 
of the driver's whip, it is an exhilarating ride. Our 
course now lies amid the mountains, which begin to 
tower around us with their huge, giant forms. 

At St. Martin, a kind of half-way house where din- 
ner is served to hungry passengers, we obtain our 
first view of the celebrated Mt. Blanc range. So far 
up into the sky are its snowy peaks we mistake them 
at first for Summer clouds ; but looking more intently 
we discover the illusion. Betaking ourselves now to 
the calec/ic, we continue our journey up, and still up, 
till at the early gloaming we reach the quiet valley 
of Chamouni, 3,150 feet above the sea level. Oh ! the 
grandeur of the scene which here bursts upon our 
sight, all shut in as we are by the magnificent moun- 
tains. Taking our stand at the door of the hotel, we 
strain our vision upward to the altitude of 11,000 
feet, where the pure white dome of old Mt. Blanc 
lifts its hoary head into the very heavens. Here, at 
the foot of the mountain, is one of the most beautiful 
glaciers of Switzerland (des Bossons), working its slow 
journey into the valley, with its great ice cakes 
measuring all the way from forty to seventy-five feet 
in height, and twenty-five to thirty in thickness. 

Ascending the mountain side, a distance of a mile 
or so, we come to the greatest glacier of the country, 
the " Mer de glace (or sea of ice), rolling down between 
the lofty mountains, and moving at the rate of a few 



57 

feet per century, like a mighty river that had sud- 
denly been congealed in its course. 

The height of Mt. Blanc above Chamouni is 11,192 
feet. Add to this the elevation of the valley above 
the sea (3,150 aforesaid), and you have 14,342 feet as 
the magnificent total. In such a presence one feels 
like uncovering the head and bowing the knee as he 
realizes the omnipotence of the great Creator, and 
views his glory in these stupendous works of His 
hand. 

We sometimes hear and read about the virtues 
of the brave and hardy Swiss mountaineers; but I 
imagine, notwithstanding all the fine theories con- 
cerning the effect of grand scenery upon character, 
these people are very much like average human beings. 
Their dwellings, called chalets, some of them perched 
way up on Alpine slopes, are usually poor specimens 
of houses, with loose-jointed roofs, which require a 
large number of heavy stones as weights upon them 
to keep them from being blown away. The super- 
stition of the people (at least in the Roman Catholic 
cantons), is made painfully evident by the numerous 
crosses and shrines of the Virgin which one finds at 
intervals on the roads and mountain paths. But, 
notwithstanding these things, there is an indescribable 
charm attaching to almost everything in this land of 
beauty and sublimity; and as we turn away from it 
with our faces toward the sunny South, we enshrine 
its scenes in our hearts to abide in memory as a u joy 
forever." 



5-8 



VIII. 

LEGHORN, PISA AND FLORENCE. 



Preferring to approach Italy by water, our course is 
directed from Geneva to Marseilles via Lyons, the 
great silk mart, and Avignon, the city of the popes. 

Embarking in one of the splendid steamers of the 
Messageries Impei-iales line,* we spend our first night 
upon that great inland sea — the Mediterranean — 
bound for Leghorn, where we arrive in about twenty- 
four hours. 

Having secured a landing at the inner mole, a long 
breakwater of stone, built many hundred feet into 
the sea, we find good lodgings at the "Hotel du 
Nord." Resting here for the night we saunter forth 
into the streets and find them crowded with happy, 
noisy, demonstrative people. Almost every boy you 
meet is singing at the top of his voice. 

A general aspect of laisscr aller seems to fill the 
place. As we walk on we come to a street corner 
where a couple of mountebanks are turning somer- 
saults in the air and jumping through a hoop lined 
with knives, to the great delight of the assembled 
multitude. 

* Now called the Messageries Maritimes, corresponding to the 
English Peninsular and Oriental line called the P. and O. Com- 
pany. 



59 

We enter a restaurant for dinner. An amusing 
experience follows : Having discussed some roast 
beef, we order — in the best French we can command 
— some pudding, and the stupid garcon thinks we 
called for poulet, so chicken it is and we eat it for 
dessert. 

The only rational explanation we can find for an 
occurrence like this is that Italian waiters are very 
imperfectly acquainted with the French language ! 

On a beautiful road, called the " Strada del Passag- 
gia," which borders the Mediterranean, we take a 
drive and enjoy an extensive view of the sea with its 
remarkable shades of opalescent green. It is a no- 
ticeable fact that the peasant women here wear 
wooden shoes, which make a strange clatter on the 
pavement, and present a singular appearance. This 
custom is not confined to Italy. It is seen in many 
other European countries. 

On our way up to Florence we tarry a few hours 
at Pisa. 

Here the Cathedral (I am almost tired of telling of 
Cathedrals, but every city, you know, must have one, 
and it would not be permissible to slight any,) is a 
fine structure in the form of a Latin cross, upwards 
of 300 feet in length of nave and 140 of transept; 
height of dome 156 feet, from floor to lantern. 

The interior is rich in art treasures, paintings, 
mosaics and sculptures by the great masters. The 
remains of many archbishops are interred in the 
vaults, the precise spot where each body lies being 
indicated, not by an inscription, but by the official 



6o 

hat of the deceased suspended with a long wire cord 
from the ceiling, and hanging directly over his last 
resting place. 

Here, also, still swings the lamp by the motion of 
which Galileo is said to have discovered the laws of 
the pendulum. 

Now for a view of the famous leaning tower, built in 
1 174, 196 feet high, the top projecting on one side 13 feet 
beyond the perpendicular line. Was it built so, or did 
it sink after erection ? I cannot tell you, and what is 
more, I never found any one who knows. But that 
is immaterial. There it stands, and has stood for 
centuries, yet one cannot help feeling a little nervous 
as he ascends this tower and looks down on the lean- 
ing side. For one, I should want my life pretty 
heavily insured if I were to choose a residence any- 
where within range of that tower, on the side before 
mentioned. 

It is built of white marble and is a beautiful piece 
of architecture, but its appearance in pictures and 
photographs is too familiar to need further descrip- 
tion. The Baptistery, which is a large octagonal 
building with a dome-like roof, is chiefly noted for 
its superb echo, the grandest in the world (unless we 
except that of the ever famous Taj Mahal in India), 
furnishing the richest and most mellow harmonies of 
which the mind can conceive, as the tones of the dia- 
tonic scale skillfully uttered by a sweet voice below 
are caught up and repeated in the dome, gradually 
dying away in the far distance. 

Near the Baptistery is the Campo Santo, or Holy 



6i 

Field, enclosed on all sides by buildings, each 400 
feet long, forming a hollow square, and containing 
the tombs of ancient nobles and royal families ot 
Italy. The earth in the enclosure was originally 
transported from the reputed site of Calvary, near 
Jerusalem. 

Florence, appropriately called Firenze la bella (the 
beautiful), is situated on the river Arno, in a valley 
between two ranges of the Appenines. The babel of 
street noises which greet the ear of a stranger is 
something amusing, if not confusing, especially in the 
early morning; venders, male and female, old and 
young (of fruits and small merchandise), all hawking 
their wares and that right lustily, but always in musi- 
cal cadences, which mitigate somewhat the din and 
tumult of voices. One sees everywhere the dark, 
lustrous eyes, tawny complexion, and abundant black 
hair which characterize the inhabitants of this south- 
ern clime. 

About every third person one meets is an ecclesi- 
astic of some order, and every fifth person is a sol- 
dier. Emblems of Church and State are sufficiently 
numerous to keep one constantly reminded that he 
is in a land of " kings and priests." On many of the 
buildings are placed (a few feet above the roadway) 
little boxes, each with a pane of glass enclosing a 
small statue of the Virgin and child, above which is a 
lamp kept constantly burning. In front of these some 
of the " faithful " may almost always be seen kneeling 
in prayer. I make no comments, but leave each one 
to his own reflections on the significance of such cus- 



62 

toms. However, I cannot but recall the words of 
warning uttered by Him who spake as never man 
spake, against his disciples imitating those who love 
to pray, standing in the synagogues and in the cor- 
ners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. 

We enter the grand Duomo (Italian for Cathedral), 
a noble pile 500 feet long, with a dome 387 feet high 
from cross to pavement, and 138 in diameter, the 
work of Brunelleschi, and not surpassed even by 
the dome of St. Peter's. Here we find a large num- 
ber of priests saying mass around the altar for the 
benefit of a small group of worshipers, while sight- 
seekers like ourselves and natives "to the manor 
born " are quietly moving around the vast building 
examining the works of art. The Campanile con- 
nected with, but entirely detached from, the Duomo, 
is a square tower, nearly as high as the dome, and of 
the same dimensions at the top as at the base, an ex- 
quisite piece of architecture, rich in variegated mar- 
bles. There is also a large Baptistery, much like 
that of Pisa, situated at the rear of the Duomo. 

One of the most conspicuous buildings in Flor- 
ence is the great Palazzo Vecchio (old palace), with 
its slender and lofty tower, which tells of by-gone 
days when the Grand Dukes of Tuscany ruled here 
with imperious sway, and ground the people under 
the iron heel of a cruel despotism. 

In the Pitti palace, containing an extensive gallery 
of paintings, the art lover revels in a feast of delight. 
The rooms, numerous and spacious, are gotten up in 
the most gorgeous style, with floors of tesselated 



6 3 

marble and door trimmings of the same material, 
and ceilings fairly covered with gold and frescoes. 
Among the pictures are many originals of Carlo 
Dolce, Raphael, Murillo, Leonardo da Vinci and Del 
Sarto. I need not specify anything further than to 
say that they are nearly all Madonnas, with here and 
there a Magdalen, or Last Supper, or Crucifixion 
scene. Though somewhat monotonous, it is most 
interesting to observe how closely those old masters 
confined themselves to religious themes. 

In each one of these apartments there is a choice 
table of mosaic and gold, the finest being valued at 
$200,000. The Boboli gardens, adjoining the Pitti, 
are beautiful with their fountains, statuary and 
trimmed foliage, a la Versailles. 

The collection of paintings in the Uffizzi palace is 
rather larger than that just mentioned, though not 
more recherche. Here we find various departments 
containing specimens of the French, Dutch and 
Flemish schools of paintings, also pottery and 
bronzes of the Etruscan style. In the Tribune, a 
room containing the celebrated statue of Venus de 
Medici and other gems, the ceiling is all inlaid with 
"mother of pearl." Among the choicest pictures in 
the Uffizzi may be mentioned Sasso Ferrato's "Vir- 
gin of Sorrows," Guercino's "Sibyl," the "Flight 
into Egypt," by Correggio," and " Madonna of the 
Goldfinch," by Raphael. 

In the Church of Santa Croce (holy cross) one sees 
the tombs of Michael Angelo, Galileo, and two of 



6 4 

the Bonaparte family, each tomb of elaborate design 
and ornamented with many statues the size of life. 

On the height south of Florence still stands the ivy 
grown tower where Galileo, of old, studied the heav- 
ens through the " optic tube," and discovered that 
the world moves. 

Fiesole, a quiet little place on the mountain oppo- 
site, or northward from the city, is a splendid situa- 
tion for a view of Florence. Here wrought and prayed 
that pious artist, Fra Angelico, of whom it is nar- 
rated that "he never took up his brushes without 
kneeling in prayer, and never painted a Christ on 
the cross without his eyes being filled with tears." 

To an American visiting Florence, a call at the 
studios of some of his countrymen who are pursuing 
the theory and practice of art in this classic land, 
furnishes a very enjoyable episode, by the way. Re- 
ceived with a warm welcome by all, nowhere do we 
find a pleasanter reception than at the atelier of 
Hiram Powers, who has dwelt here almost a lifetime 
and reflected by his genius so much glory upon his 
native land, in the eyes of foreigners.* Here we see 
the original plaster cast of the "Greek Slave," and 
an exquisite statue designed from Milton's "Pense- 
roso," a duplicate of which is owned by James Len- 
nox, Esq., of New York. 

It seems to be the general impression that the cli- 
mate of Florence is well adapted to cases of pul- 

* Mr. Powers, since deceased, has transmitted his skill to a 
son, who still continues the stud}' and practice of his father's 
favorite art in that land of poetry and song. 



65 

monary disease. Such an idea is far from the truth. 
The changes in temperature, say in the month of 
February, are very great, between the atmosphere of 
the sunshine and that of the shade, or between the 
air of the streets and that of the churches, which, of 
course, every stranger, whether sick or well, wants to 
visit. Many a poor invalid has come here seeking 
health, but has found a grave. 

In the cemetery we stand by the last resting place 
of the mortal remains of Theodore Parker, that man 
of brilliant talent and noble heart, whose untimely 
death in this foreign land, far from friends and home, 
furnishes but one warning of many to those who are 
led away by the popular delusion just mentioned. 

The finest drive of the city of Florence is along the 
Arno out to the Cascini (their Central Park), where 
one sees the usual style and pomp of coachmen, and 
footmen, and outriders, and all that. But we turn 
away from this show and aim for the cars which are 
to carry us to Rome. 

There is too much demanding our attention in that 
city to warrant me in beginning a description of its 
wonders in this letter, already sufficiently long. 



66 

IX. 
THE ETERNAL CITY. 



" And this is Rome 
That sat upon her seven hills, 
And from her throne of beauty, 
Ruled the world." 

The same old city, indeed, yet oh ! how changed! 
The " seven hills " are still here, though some of them 
rather imperfectly denned, and difficult to distinguish 
from the general level ; but, where is the " throne of 
beauty?" where the glory of the ancient empire? 
Departed, numbered with the things that were. 

We enter by the "people's gate " or Porta del Po- 
polo (for this is a walled city), and find ourselves 
standing in a large open square of the same name 
(Piazza del Popolo), having a beautiful Egyptian 
obelisk in the centre. And here we continue stand- 
ing and wondering in what direction we had better 
make our first tour of investigation amid such a world 
of historic associations and antiquities. Well, impri- 
mis, we turn to the left from the Piazza (or square), 
and ascend by the nicely paved and zig-zag road 
to the top of the Pincian hill, whence we obtain a 
comprehensive view of the city, with its numerous 
churches, convents, and other lofty buildings, many 
of them hoary with age; we remark especially the 
sublime proportions of old St. Peter's, in the dim dis- 



6 7 

tance, rising heavenward and breaking upon our vis- 
ion almost like a dream or an ideal picture. This 
Pincian hill is the favorite ground of the Romans for 
a promenade or ride, being handsomely laid out as a 
park, and combining all the elements of an agreeable 
place of resort. 

It is easy to see from this eminence that the streets 
of the city are quite narrow and rather crooked, and 
the houses high; but the Corso (Roman Broadway), 
is an exception, being somewhat wider than the aver- 
age and very straight. 

Taking our position on this street we watch for a 
moment those who pass by ; and what a motley as- 
semblage it is! Soldiers and priests, of course, pre- 
dominate ; plenty of beggars, both sexes and all ages, 
peasantry from the Campagna, the women many of 
them handsome in rustic but picturesque garb ; now 
and then passes an ecclesiastic with long black coat 
reaching to the ground and curious dark felt hat, small 
in the crown but immense in the brim, turned up at 
the edges and extending before and behind a foot or 
two from the head ; here comes a monk with shaven 
scalp, coarse robe bound at the waist by a piece of 
white rope, from which hangs a row of beads and 
crucifix, with sandals upon bare feet. He may belong 
to the order of Dominicans, or Franciscans, or Ca- 
puchins, but no matter which. We should be no 
better and no wiser if we knew. Next passes a Sister 
of Charity, whose black serge dress and capacious 
white bonnet need no description, as they are seen so 
frequently in the large cities of our own country. 



6S 

But look, here approaches a splendid carriage, heavy 
and old fashioned indeed, but gorgeous in its appoint- 
ments of gold without and damask within. Coach- 
men and footmen dressed in a style to match the 
equipage, and horses with richly mounted harness — 
gold and silver no account ! And whose is this grand 
turn-out? Is it the King's or the Pope's? No, 
neither. It is only a Cardinal, with his red three- 
cornered hat and tunic of the same color, out taking 
an airing. But we've seen enough of this. How can 
we delay any longer a visit to St. Peter's ? 

Crossing the Tiber, a sluggish and muddy old stream 
(by the way, my readers have probably noticed that 
all the rivers thus far described have resembled each 
other in the muddiness of their waters),* over the an- 

* Even the Rhine, as I observed it, is no exception to this rule — 
a turbid and swiftly flowing current. And speaking of that river, 
I may be pardoned for returning to the subject a moment to 
make one or two further remarks. A comparison is sometimes 
instituted between the Rhine and our own Hudson River. Many 
have asked me which of the two I consider the more beautiful ? 
I answer that while the highlands of the Hudson are loftier and 
grander than the Rhine mountains, the former extend over a 
smaller area than the latter. In a word, there are " more of 
them " on the Rhine than here. Besides this, the ruined castles 
which crown every prominent height with their grim towers and 
ivy-clad walls, speaking of centuries long gone by — add a charm 
of Mediaeval history and romance to the journey up or down the 
Rhine of which one can see nothing on the banks of the Hudson. 

Another feature of interest- on the Rhine (which the Hudson 
does not possess) is the continued succession of terraced vine- 
yards which cover nearly every hill and mountain from base to 
summit. Speaking of vineyards, I am reminded of the impres- 



6 9 

cient bridge richly ornamented with statues, just vis 
a vis the Mausoleum of Hadrian (built A. D. 130), 
now known as the castle St. Angelo, the citadel of 
the Pope, and connected with the Vatican a half- 
mile distant by a subterranean passage for conven- 
ience in emergencies, we soon come to the great open 
space called Piazza di San Pietro. The real place for 
a perfect view of the huge pile is not here, but some 
mile or two away, where the tout ensemble of the won- 
derful building can be taken in at a glance. 

When approaching the structure one begins to lose 
sight of the finest part of it, viz : the ponderous and 
yet exquisitely outlined dome, the immense facade, 
measuring 379 feet by 148, being too high for sym- 
metry. The length of the grand nave is 613 feet and 
extreme height of dome 405. The church which ac- 
commodates 100,000 people without crowding, occu- 
pied three hundred years in its construction and cost 
fifty millions of dollars. On the first moment of 
entering, one is not so much impressed with the 

sion (commonly entertained) that in Germany, France and Italy 
(though vine-growing and wine-producing countries), there is much 
less drunkenness than in the United States. So far as my observa- 
tion goes, this impression is correct, but the influence which some 
have drawn from the fact, viz : that an increase of wine culture 
with us would tend to diminish the evil in question, is wide of 
the mark. For, though there might be less adulteration of wines 
on the basis of a more general manufacture, the increase would 
militate seriously against our sobriety as a people, since the con- 
ditions of climate and ways of living in America are far more 
conducive to excessive indulgence than those which characterize 
European countries. 



70 

grandeur of the edifice, as he is when he has had an 
opportunity to study its colossal proportions. Every- 
thing is on so large a scale, and so well harmonized, 
that one does not at first realize the immensity of each 
object. The marble cherubs, for example, which sup- 
port the shell-like receptacle for holy water, appear 
at a distance to be the size of infants, but, on nearer 
acquaintance, they prove to be as large as a full- 
grown man. 

In the corridors on either side of the nave, there 
are a good many chapels, each one large enough for 
a church in itself, and lavishly enriched with statuary 
and paintings on canvas, not to mention the ele- 
gant frescoes which fairly bewilder one with their 
abundance. 

The most conspicuous object in St. Peter's is the 
Baldacchino, or canopy over-arching the grand altar, 
where none but the pope or a cardinal specially 
authorized is allowed to officiate. This canopy, 
ninety-four feet high, is supported by four great 
spiral columns, and cost $100,000. 

The bronze statue of St. Peter,* on the north side of 
the nave, representing the apostle in a sitting posture 
with one foot extended, is an object of special adora- 
tion to the " faithful," some of whom may always be 
seen kissing the great toe which projects an inch or 
two beyond the pedestal, and is very much worn 
from the frequent applications above mentioned. It 
is a little bit amusing to watch the people as they 

* Supposed to have been originally made to represent Jupiter, 
of heathen mythology. 



71 

stand sometimes in a row, waiting their turns to kiss 
that toe. Many of them are of the lower classes. 
They walk up, apply their lips to the bronze without 
ceremony, and pass on. Now and then, however, a 
more genteel person, say a lady of "good society" 
approaches the statue, and with her handkerchief 
wipes the toe in order to remove any possible un- 
cleanness left by the last devotee, and then imprints 
her kiss. 

It would certainly be amusing if it were not sad to 
witness such unmistakable evidence of superstition, 
in a custom sanctioned by the church whose money 
has erected this Basilica — a building pronounced by 
Gibbon to be the "most glorious structure that has 
ever been applied to the uses of religion." The " con- 
fessionals," located at convenient intervals around 
the sacred edifice are worthy of notice, each one orna- 
mental in design and richly carved in some dark 
wood, accommodating a priest who sits in his box 
enclosed on three sides, applying his ear to a screen 
now on the right and now on the left as some woman 
kneels before it to whisper the story of her wrong- 
doings and secure absolution. (I say woman, for one 
seldom sees a man at the confessional.)* 

A singular feature of this custom is the application 
to the head of the kneeling penitent (after she has 
passed away from the side-screen and has taken her 
position in front of the box, at a distance say of ten 

* Please make a note of that fact as indicating the diminishing 
power of Romanism over the male portion of its votaries, at 
least. 



72 

feet from it), of a long and slender stick, held by the 
priest, gently touching the forehead. This done, the 
woman rises from her knees and passes away with 
a happy look upon her face. I never heard any one 
explain this part of the ceremony, but I interpret it to 
signify a blessing proceeding from the hands of the 
priest, all the way through that long pole to the head 
of the worshiper. 

Beyond the grand altar (underneath which, on dif, 
repose the remains of the Apostle Peter), upon a 
large marble tablet inserted in the wall, may be read 
the following inscription : 

PIUS IX., PONTIFEX MAXIMUS, 

IN HAC PATRIARCHALI BASILICA DIE VIII DEC. AN. MDCCCL1V 

Dogmaticam Definitionem 

DE CONCEPTIONE IMMACULATA 

DEIPAR.E VIRGINIS MARINE 

inter sacra solemnia pronunciavit 
Totius que orbis Catholici desideria explevit. 

Which being translated means: "Pius IX., Su- 
preme Pontiff, in this Patriarchal Basilica, on the §th 
day of Dec, 1854, pronounced in the midst of sacred 
solemnities the doctrinal definition concerning the 
immaculate conception of the divine Virgin Mary, and 
satisfied the desires of the whole Catholic world." 
No comments necessary. 

The dome of St. Peter's, the finest of all the pro- 
ducts of the architectural genius of Michael Angelo, 
is perhaps the most perfect thing of its kind in the 
world. It has been called " The eighth hill of Rome, 
created by Michael Angelo to approach nearer to 



73 

God." But, substantial and solid as it appears, there 
exist, it is said, reasons for apprehension with refer- 
ence to its safety. A correspondent of the London Daily 
News, in a letter written from Rome long ago, says : 
" There is a panic at the Vatican just now on account 
of the sensible oscillation and inclination of the gi- 
gantic cupola of St. Peter's." He adds, " that the con- 
tinual cannonading at the Porta San Pancrazio and 
along the bastions near St. Peter's during the siege 
of Rome in 1S49 caused too strong a vibration in the 
stupendous construction." 

Notwithstanding these fears we must not lose the 
opportunity of climbing to the cross and standing 
within the ball of this dome, the view from which 
amply repays one for the fatigue incurred. The as- 
cent to the roof of the building is made along what 
may well be called the " King's highway," for it is 
not a staircase, but a wide passage paved with stone, 
and at a very moderate incline, so that, if it were 
allowed, one might ride to the roof in a carriage 
drawn by horses. At the base of the "drum," on the 
inside of the dome, in letters some ten feet high, which 
appear from below of the ordinary size of street signs, 
is the following sentence, just completing the circle: 
" Tu es Petrus, et in hanc petram ecclesiam meant icdiji- 
cabo." (Matt. 16:18.) Well, we must go from this 
wonderful building, even if the half of its glories has 
not been noticed, but as we turn toward the door we 
see a throng entering and soon find it to be the Pope 
surrounded by his retinue coming in to say his pray- 
ers "instate." The sight is gorgeous to behold 



74 

Surrounded by the famous Swiss guards, a fine look- 
ing body of men, dressed in the most fantastic of 
uniforms (the colors, yellow, crimson and black pre- 
dominating), and bearing long halberds at a perpen- 
dicular, the soldiers followed by cardinals, bishops, 
priests and other nameless dignitaries, and preceded 
by one who holds aloft a solid silver cross, Pius IX. 
walks with dignity amid the throng, all of whom 
(excepting a few of us Americans), bow the knee 
before him, while he distributes his blessings on every 
side by waving the two forefingers and thumb of his 
right hand toward the multitude. The old gentleman 
has a benignant countenance and a portly mien. He 
is dressed in a long white satin robe, the train of 
which is borne by an attendant, a cape of red velvet 
trimmed with gold, and a small white skull-cap upon 
the crown of his head. All the talk about His Holi- 
ness being a prisoner since the popular King Victor 
came to take up his abode in the Eternal City is 
merely the figment of a heated imagination or a dream 
of a disordered brain. The longevity of the Pope is 
wonderful. He has strangely outlived all the predic- 
tions concerning his approaching demise which have 
been made with much confidence for many years past. 

He has been in the papal chair now over a quarter 
of a century.* 

Passing out of the Basilica we visit the adjoining 
palace of the Vatican, an immense series of buildings 
in one corner of which (with room enough for all 

* The decease of Pius IX. and succession to the Papal chair of 
Leo XIII. are now matters of history. 



75 

his poor relations), the Pope resides. Here we ex- 
amine the wonders in the grand museum of statuary, 
tapestries and mosaics, a hall only 1,150 feet long. 
We make a special note of the Apollo Belvidere, Lao- 
coon and the Boxers among the gems of the sculptor's 
genius. Raphael's "Transfiguration" scene in the 
gallery of paintings, and Michael Angelo's " Last 
Judgment " in the Sistine chapel are pictures "wor- 
thy of the gods." 

But we are surfeited with beauty. This is glory 
enough for one day, so we emerge into the piazza, 
just remarking before we depart the magnificent cir- 
cular colonnades partly enclosing this vast space, the 
promenade being 55 feet wide and containing 284 
majestic columns each 48 feet high. In the center of 
the square is another splendid obelisk imported from 
Egypt, no matter how high, figures enough. I fear 
some of my readers may be a little incredulous about 
some I have already given. But they would not be, if 
they had only been there and seen for themselves. 
Words or numbers are but poor media for the con- 
veyance of the impressions made upon the mind of 
an observer by such colossal objects as those which I 
have now tried to describe. 



76 

X. 
ROME. 

There are just 365 churches in Rome! One for 
every day in the year. But I do not propose to 
describe quite all of them. I think on the whole it 
will be best to discount about 360, and add : "Ex uno 
disce omnes" 

The term "Basilica," signifying king's house, is 
applied to about a dozen of these churches — the 
largest and finest — besides St. Peter's. There is the 
Basilica of St. John Lateran, where the Popes are 
crowned, and where five general councils of the 
Roman Church have been held. 

Here is the " Scala Santa," or holy staircase, a series 
of twenty-eight steps, worn with age and covered 
with wooden slabs, which have to be frequently 
renewed owing to their constant use for the purposes 
of penance. This staircase, according to tradition, 
belonged originally to the house of Pilate in Jerusa- 
lem. Hence its great sacredness, our Lord having 
passed over it from the place of judgment to the 
mount of crucifixion. I need not assure intelligent 
readers that this, like a thousand other traditions of 
the Papacy, is nothing but " moonshine." 

Up these steps that monk of Erfurt was crawling 
on his knees (like those " penitents " we now see) 
when the glorious light of God's truth burst upon 



77 

his mind, and suddenly realizing that the "just shall 
live by faith " and not by deeds of self-mortification, 
he rose up on his feet and walked forth a new man in 
Christ Jesus. 

Here, too, the monks show us a piece of the table 
at which the Last Supper was eaten, kept in a dark 
recess behind glass doors, and viewed only by the 
dim light of a candle. 

In the cloisters, adjoining the church, among other 
relics, are two pieces of a marble pillar, which, they 
say, was rent from the top to the bottom on the night 
when Jesus was crucified. 

The Basilica of St. Agnes, fuori la mura (outside 
the walls), is one of the oldest and best preserved 
churches in Rome, having been built in the year 324 
and still retaining its original external, form and 
internal arrangements. 

Here at the annual festival of St. Agnes, on the 
21st of January, the Pope blesses two lambs, which 
from that time are kept by nuns in one of the con- 
vents, the wool of the animals, when grown to sheep- 
hood, being used to make the " palls " worn by the 
highest dignitaries of the Church. 

Another Basilica — and the most gorgeous of all, 
always excepting St. Peter's — is that of St. Paul, 
without the walls. Two or three structures on this 
site, and bearing the same name, have been destroyed, 
the first erected by Constantine. The present edifice, 
which was consecrated in 1854 by Pius IX., is a mag- 
nificent affair, having eighty monolithic Corinthian 
columns of granite, with capitals of white marble, 



78 

between the nave and the aisles, forty on either side. 
Upon the part of the wall, between the capitals and 
ceiling, is placed a series of superb medallions of the 
Popes (head and shoulders, two or three times the 
size of life), made at the Mosaic manufactory of the 
Vatican, out of the little pieces of "composition," a 
material looking like bits of baked clay, and colored 
in every possible shade of beauty. The effect of 
these great Mosaics upon the eye, when the beholder 
stands at a little distance from them, is precisely sim- 
ilar to that produced by an elegant oil painting. If 
anything, these medallions in stone are more won- 
derful than the Gobelin tapestries of Paris, described 
in a former letter. 

A marked feature on the facade of many churches 
in this city is the announcement made in large char- 
acters over the doorway, and reaching usually across 
the entire width of the building, as follows : "Indul- 
gentia plena ria perpetua pro vivis et defunctis" — meaning 
that plenary and perpetual indulgence is there granted 
for the living and the dead. It is easy enough for one 
who is familiar with "the ways that are dark" of 
Romanism to understand what is signified by grant- 
ing to the living indulgence to sin, but what is 
intended by the phrase when applied to the dead, I 
am at a loss to know. As we read these strange 
words, staring one in the face from the fronts of so 
many churches, we cannot but recall the first procla- 
mation of that doctrine in Germany by Tetzel, and 
the fire of opposition awakened in the honest heart 
of Luther ; we cannot but wonder at the effrontery of 



79 

those who, under the sanctions of what they call a 
holy religion, can have the face to say to their follow- 
ers, if you will do thus and so, you may commit 
any venial sin you choose for a certain length of 
time, and incur no guilt by it. 

Another illustration of this principle (or rather 
want of principle) is seen in the inscription upon the 
large wooden cross which formerly stood in the cen- 
tre of the arena of the Colosseum. It is in these 
words: "By kissing this cross one obtains an indul- 
gence for two hundred days." 

The peculiar sacredness of the place, and hence the 
special virtue arising from the kissing of that cross, 
consists in the fact that in this arena hundreds and 
thousands of Christians met the death of martyrdom 
during the persecutions of the Roman emperors. 

I must mention one more church — that of the 
Capuchin friars — as an object of interest to the vis- 
itor, the crypt being made the depository of the bones 
of the monks who have died either recently or remotely, 
the time of their decease extending back some centu- 
ries. Here they lie, humeri and tifo'ce, radii and uln<z y 
each kind by itself in comely piles, or placed in fan- 
tastic devices upon the walls. The sight is curious, 
albeit rather ghastly, especially in the case of the few 
skeletons which are preserved entire, dressed in the 
coarse habiliments of the order, with the right hand 
holding a crucifix. 

Thence we pass to the Borghese villa, which con- 
tains many fine works of art, both painting and 
sculpture, the choicest of the latter being " Goliath 



8o 



slain by David," " Daphne chased by Apollo," and 
"Venus reposing on a couch." At the Barberini 
palace, in a beautiful collection of objets de vertu, is 
the original portrait of Beatrice Cenci. 

And now for the antiquities of Rome. 

Ascending the Capitoline Hill, by an imposing 
though time-worn staircase, we find directly ahead of 
us the old Capitol, on the right the Palace of the 
Conservators, and on the left the Hall of the Sen- 
ators, the latter building containing, among other 
pieces of statuary in its Museum, the famous "Dying 
Gladiator." Situated in the center of the piazza is a 
grand equestrian statue, in bronze, of the good 
Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Back of the Capitol is a 
large area, every inch of which is rich with relics of 
the hoary past. Here are the ruins of temples, pal- 
aces, baths, and churches. 

In the space which formed the ancient Forum are 
the arches of Septimus Severus and of Constantine. 
On the south side of the enclosure are the reputed 
sites of the Mamertine prison and the Palace of the 
Caesars. On the north side stand three ponderous 
arches which once belonged to the Basilica of Con- 
stantine. Passing on through the forum, we reach 
the Colosseum, already incidentally mentioned, for- 
merly called the Flavian Amphitheatre, "Flavius being 
the family name of the Emperor Vespasian, who began 
it in A. D. 72." The building is an ellipse, 584 and 468 
feet long in its two diameters, the outer walls 157 feet 
high. It seated 80,000 people; some authorities say 
100,000. Much credit is due to Pius IX. for the work 



accomplished under his orders in keeping this magni- 
ficent ruin from crumbling generally to destruction. 
Though we call it a ruin, it is still almost perfect in 
symmetry and true to its original proportions. As 
we stand on the summit of these majestic walls 
and look down into this vast arena, we try to realize 
what was once enacted there, when hungry lions 
came roaring forth from those dark dens beneath, only 
to spring upon and tear in pieces the men, women, 
and even children, thus devoted to a martyr's death — 
and all to make a Roman holiday. Well sings Byron 
in his " Childe Harold " concerning this stupendous 
structure : 

"Arches on arches, as it were, that Rome, 

Collecting the chief trophies of her line, 
Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, 

Her Colosseum stands; the moonbeams shine 
As 't were its natural torches, for divine 

Should be the light which streams here to illume 
This long explored but still exhaustless mine 

Of contemplation." 

Passing hence, we come to the Arch of Titus, erected 
in honor of the capture of Jerusalem by the general 
whose name it bears, and inspect with keenest interest 
the bas reliefs upon the inside wall, representing the 
famous golden candlestick with its seven branches, 
taken by the impious Romans from the Temple of 
the Holy City. From this point out for a distance of 
many miles we travel over the large flat stones which 
formed the pavement of the Appian Way, a road 
6 



S2 

built by command of Appius Claudius, B. C. 330. 
Tolerably ancient, we should say. 

About two miles from the city walls, on the same 
road, is situated the tomb of Cecilia Metella, wife of 
Crassus, " a circular tower, nearly seventy feet in diam- 
eter, constructed of large blocks of travertine fitted 
together with the greatest precision." 

Over this way passed the Roman generals in tri- 
umph when returning home from successful cam- 
paigns. Along this road, too, passed a greater and 
nobler than they, the beloved Apostle Paul, in com- 
pany with those who had met him at Appii forum, 
after his eventful voyage from Caesarea, and escorted 
him to the Eternal City, where he was to live in his 
own hired house two years, and then die at the 
hands of the cruel Nero. 

Among the noteworthy remains of ancient Rome 
are the famous baths of Caracalla and Titus, the for- 
mer built A. D. 212, covering a space 720 by 375 feet, 
and accommodating 1,600 bathers. Those old Romans 
must have thought something of cleanliness, even if 
they knew so little about godliness. 

In the baths of Titus the ceilings of some apart- 
ments still retain their frescoes in a remarkable state 
of preservation ; covered as they are in darkness of 
subterranean passages, one can only see them in the 
perfect light of a torch. 

Riding from one locality to another in the environs 
of the city, we note here and there traces of the 
famous Roman aqueducts, with their long series of 



33 

arches, reminding us of our own High Bridge over 
the Harlem river. 

In speaking of the churches I purposely omitted 
to mention the Pantheon, as it might truly be classed 
among the antiquities of Rome. And the wonder of 
it is that, though erected B. C. 27, it is not a ruin but 
a well-preserved building, (a rotunda in shape,) origi- 
nally dedicated to all the gods, and used, as its name 
denotes, as a depository of statues of various deities 
which the victorious generals brought home with 
them as trophies of war from the different countries 
they had conquered. The edifice was consecrated as- 
a Christian church A. D. 608, under the name of St. 
Mary to the Martyrs. 

A description of Rome would hardly be complete 
which should omit any allusion to the Catacombs, 
but as their history is tolerably familiar to the reader 
of average intelligence, and as our journey to-day 
has been quite protracted, I do not propose to enter 
into a description of them. Suffice it to say that 
about sixty catacombs have been discovered, each one 
being estimated capable of receiving at least 50,000 
bodies, making 3,000,000 in all ; but it is a point about 
which there is so much debate that it would not be 
safe for us to make any positive statements. 

There is, I am fully aware, much, very much, of 
real interest in and around Rome that has not yet 
been described, but enough has been told to give one 
who has never visited Italy a tolerably correct im- 
pression of its capital. 

Yes, thank God, Rome is, at last, the capital of 



8 4 

Italy. A new and better day has dawned upon that 
land of classic memories; freedom has been given to 
the people who had so long sighed for its privileges. 

Victor Emmanuel,* il re galantuomo (the gallant 
king), as the Italians love to call him, resides at the 
Palace of the Quirinal, and dispenses his regal favors 
to all the people with generous heart and open hand. 
A bluff old man for a king, a bo?i vivant, and more fond 
of the chase than of court life, he nevertheless seems 
to satisfy the popular expectations. The Parliament 
of the kingdom has recently decreed the abolition of 
the conventual establishments and religious houses, 
which had been impoverishing the people by their 
excessive demands for pecuniary aid in the name of 
the Church. Public schools have been opened, in 
which 7,000 children receive instruction, and best 
of all, the Bible, which had been a contraband arti- 
cle, is sold publicly in the streets of Rome, even 
under the very dome of St. Peter's itself. 

All hail ! Italy redeemed. 

*The accession of the popular King Humbert, with his beauti- 
ful Queen Marguerite, to the throne, since the death of Victor 
Emmanuel, has only seemed to confirm the love of the Italians 
for the royal family, and promises well for the stability of the 
government. 



35 

XI. 

NAPLES AND VICINITY. 



Naples, whither we have come in a few hours by- 
rail from Rome, is the city of lazzaroni and macaroni. 
Beautifully situated on the bay whose immense semi- 
circular sweep of coast sets off in the finest possible 
manner the superb coloring of its waters, with a high 
bluff in the background, and old Vesuvius, with its 
graceful outlines in the distance, it is altogether a 
sight well worth seeing. The streets of Naples, 
which, with the exception of the grand C/iiaja, the 
promenade and drive facing the bay, are mainly quite 
narrow and filthy, seem to swarm with people of all 
kinds, classes and ages. In many of these thorough- 
fares, as in other European cities, there are no side- 
walks, so that things are decidedly mixed, pedestrians 
being compelled to keep a sharp look-out before and 
behind lest they come into collision with a passing 
vehicle or beast of burden. The lazzaroni before 
mentioned are the loafers and beggars of Naples, 
who sit or lie in the sunshine, sleep, and eat maca- 
roni, and think the world owes them a living. They 
are not so numerous now as they were under the old 
regime, before the bugle-call of Garibaldi awoke the 
nation from its slumbers and summoned it to a brave 
struggle for liberty. These pests of society, like 
those still greater curses, the brigands of the moun- 



86 

tains, have begun to disappear, since the despotism 
which fostered such scourges has been consigned to 
its merited doom. Macaroni, the "dough of wheat 
flour made into a tubular or pipe form," an article 
of diet which is gradually becoming domesticated 
among us, is the staple food of these Neapolitans, at 
least of those belonging to the poorer classes. One 
sees here and there long rows of it, hanging upon 
boards to dry, and presenting a very singular appear- 
ance. 

For a wonder, there are no churches worthy of 
special mention in Naples, not even a cathedral ! 
There are doubtless plenty of these houses of wor- 
ship such as they are, but I will spare my readers any 
description. As for " lions," Naples is not particu- 
larly rich in them. This city is distinguished rather 
for its environs than for itself. It is a base of opera- 
tions for excursions to the localities of real interest. 

But there is one building we must visit — the Museo 
Borbonico, where is stored a vast collection of 
relics and treasures exhumed from the buried cities 
of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Here, too, is the 
Teatro San Carlo — the royal opera house — one of the 
largest and finest in Europe, where, on the evening 
of St. Joseph's Day, March 19th, we are fortunate 
enough to hear a full chorus of choice singers render 
the Garibaldi Hymn, in the midst of the most uproar- 
ious enthusiasm of the audience. The popular hero's 
Christian name being Joseph, or Giuseppi, the people, 
in a fit of patriotism which disregards the memory 
of the original saint, dedicate the day to a general 



87 

glorification of their red-shirted leader. It is a scene 
of thrilling interest which can only be imagined 
when this hymn is sung by the chorus, a man stand- 
ing meanwhile at the front of the stage waving a 
large Italian flag, while the people rise en masse and 
shout themselves hoarse with vivas and bravos. 

We spend the day in a charming ride to Sorrento, 
the first few miles by steam cars to Castellamarc, and 
the remainder of the distance by carriage over a 
splendid road, a large portion of which is built (like 
the Cornichi road leading to Genoa) on the very face 
of the perpendicular cliffs overhanging the bay. 

Sorrento, like Naples, is more noted for what one 
sees from it than for what is found in it; a village sit- 
uated on a high bluff, opposite the city, though some 
ten miles distant therefrom, abounding in luscious 
oranges and fancy wood-work, and commanding the 
finest view of Vesuvius, Naples, and the bay, any- 
where to be obtained. In regard to the color of these 
waters already mentioned, it is impossible to exag- 
gerate, varying as it does from the deepest indigo to 
the lightest sky blue, the former on the horizon, and 
shading off to the latter in the near distances. Some- 
times, as one looks off upon that exquisite expanse, 
with a bright sun glorifying it, the hues will seem 
to change from one delicate tint to another, each tint 
stretching out in one long streak of sparkling light, 
not blending with that which succeeds, but separated 
from it by a clear and distinct line of demarcation. 

Returning from Sorrento, at the close of a day 
long to be remembered, we have a fine view of Capri, 



the island which, with its bold and precipitous head, 
seems to stand guard like a sentinel at the entrance 
of the bay ; the island where the Emperor Tiberius 
Caesar had a country seat, and where he revelled in 
debauchery ; the island, too, which contains the won- 
derful blue grotto, with its small opening to the sea, 
through which one sails in a row-boat, and from 
which he can emerge only at low tide. All this we 
hear others tell of, and so, for once, forego the pleas- 
ure of personal observation. 

Another day we spend in a visit to the ruins of 
Pompeii and Herculaneum. The story of their 
destruction need not here be rehearsed ; it is as 
familiar as an oft-told tale. But what is the mere 
reading about that fearful event compared to the 
emotions one experiences in walking through these 
long-deserted streets, and inspecting these spectral 
houses and temples and baths and gardens ? To 
stand within the forum, and sit in this great amphi- 
theatre, and think how in one fatal hour swift and 
sudden destruction came down from that mountain 
upon the hundreds of busy and happy inhabitants of 
this devoted city, is enough to make an indelible 
impression upon the mind even of the most thought- 
less. 

I speak particularly of Pompeii, as that was the 
larger city of the two. In order to see what remains 
of Herculaneum, one must descend a distance of 
one hundred feet below the surface of the present 
place over a dilapidated stairway, and there, by the 
light of a torch, appear the few relics of what was 



S Q 

once a flourishing town. But Pompeii has been quite 
thoroughly excavated from the vast accumulations of 
ashes and scoriae and the dust of ages; and if one 
would see the whole city, he must occupy some four 
or five hours, so extensive are the ruins. 

In some of the houses there are rooms whose walls 
and ceilings still retain beautiful frescoes, with colors 
almost as fresh as though but recently painted, and 
the length of time since the destruction of the city is 
just eighteen hundred years ! One cannot but have 
his moral sensibilities shocked in noting certain 
designs on the walls, either in painting or in sculp- 
ture, indicating a very low and polluted taste. In the 
museum at Naples the largest number of such objects 
is to be seen. In this connection I record the words 
which I wrote on the spot, while under the full power 
of these scenes : "As truly as I believe Sodom and 
Gomorrah were destroyed for their exceeding great 
licentiousness, so surely do I believe that the fiery 
judgments of God were visited upon Pompeii and 
Herculaneum for the same reason." 

Our last and best excursion will be to Vesuvius. 
Waiting for a fine, clear day, and such an one having 
dawned upon us, we ride by carriage to Resina, a 
village about six miles from Naples, where we alight 
and change our mode of conveyance to the back of a 
mule. The ascent, though very gradual at first, 
begins at this point. And here let me say that the 
volcano just now is in a very quiet and amiable 
mood, or we should hardly dare to cultivate such an 
intimate acquaintance with it. 



go 

In about two hours* we reach the Hermitage, hav- 
ing traveled in a zigzag path of solidified heaps or 
convolutions of what was once molten lava, now hard 
and black as coal. 

From the house above mentioned — a place of 
observation and rest — the distance is short to the 
base of the cone. Here we dismount and "foot it" 
the rest of the way, which, I would say en passant, 
proves a hard road to travel. Declining the kindly- 
proffered assistance of the Italian guides, who look 
and act more like banditti than honest men, and find- 
ing it necessary once, twice, and even thrice, to repeat 
our declinature of these generous offers either to 
pull or push or carry us bodily, we take our staff and 
toil up the steep incline of about sixty degrees. If 
one is vigorous, he can make the ascent of the cone 
in about forty minutes. Having reached the edge 
of the awful crater, we look down and see noth- 
ing but a yawning abyss of blackness and smoke. 
We listen, as the chemical compounds in that great 
cauldron down below seethe and boil, and even 
while we strain our eyes to see whence all this rum- 
bling noise proceeds, up comes a thick cloud of 
sulphurous smoke accompanied with several stones a 
foot or two in diameter. And this is what I rightly 
called the amiable mood of old Vesuvius. " If such 
things are done in the green tree, what shall be done 
in the dry?" If, in its quiescent state, we may stand 
at any of these smoking cracks and seams in the 

*The ascent to the cone is now made in short metre, by steam 
car, as on the Righi and our own Mt. Washington. 



9 1 

mountain and boil an egg, what shall be said of the 
awful grandeur of one of those terrific eruptions 
when this entire cone is one great sheet of liquid 
fire? 

Now for the descent. We came up, as I have inti- 
mated, in forty minutes, over a hard surface. We 
choose for the return trip down the cone, the soft 
sand, and find ourselves at the foot in exactly eight 
minutes. One just plants his heels deeply and firmly 
at every step, sinking in about a foot each time, 
keeps his body at a perpendicular, or, if anything, 
with a slight backward inclination, and then lets 
himself slide. 

That descent of the cone of Vesuvius is about the 
most exhilarating experience one is likely ever to 
have. 

I have spoken of the clearness of the atmosphere in 
this sunny clime. Let me add, as an illustration, the 
fact that while walking along the promenade of the 
Chiaja already mentioned, we can see with the naked 
eye the houses on that rugged Island of Capri, fifteen 
miles distant. I state this on my word of honor, and 
no joking. 

In our next we embark for the East via Sicily and 
Malta. 



9 2 

XII. 
MALTA AND ATHENS. 



Our last view of that glorious bay of Naples is 
enjoyed as we glide over its waters in the good 
steamer "Pausilippe" on a beautiful afternoon when 
the setting sun casts a roseate hue upon every object 
of land and sea. In the evening a full moon com- 
pletes the picture of beauty by throwing its silvery 
sheen over the surface of the Mediterranean, and 
causing the waves to disport themselves in a thousand 
glittering points of light. Under the power of a 
strong head wind, however, which increased the next 
morning to a gale, the waves become somewhat too 
sportive for the comfort of the passengers, who one 
by one retire to their private apartments, there to 
meditate upon the instability of all human affairs in 
general, and of the treacherous Mediterranean in par- 
ticular. In the teeth of the gale we plough our way 
through the straits of Messina with Scylla on the 
right hand and Charybdis on the left, or, as some one 
not classically inclined called these famous localities, 
Sallie and Carrie Bobus. 

At Messina, Sicily, we make a landing, by which I 
mean as in the case of the ports we are about visiting 
in the East, not that our steamer rounds to and 
secures moorings at a pier or quay, but that we cast 
anchor in the roadstead or harbor and go ashore in 



93 

small boats. But as there are no "elephants" here 
we will dismiss Messina with the simple remark that 
so far as our experience is any criterion, it is a very 
rainy place, for the heavens weep during most of the 
twenty-four hours and more that we remain in its 
vicinage. Passing out of the harbor we exchange sal- 
utations by "dipping" colors with the English frigate 
"Victor Emmanuel" and with the United States 
flagship "Richmond," whose band is discoursing the 
familiar and inspiring strains of "Hail Columbia." 
When one is so far from home as this the effect pro- 
duced upon one's mind by a sight of the glorious 
"Stars and Stripes," as it flies from the peak of a 
government vessel or even a merchant ship, or as it 
floats in beauty from the official residence of an 
American consul or minister plenipotentiary in any 
one of the foreign cities, is something almost inde- 
scribable. Especially in these recent years since the 
stain of slavery has been removed from our national 
escutcheon, may one as he travels abroad point with 
pride to the dear old flag and say, " I too, am an 
American citizen." 

After a night's steaming we find ourselves in the 
harbor of Valette, Malta, a strongly fortified place 
and the only city or town of any importance on the 
island. Though held by the British government and 
inhabited by many Englishmen, Malta is essentially 
a foreign country, being heterogeneous in its popula- 
tion, quite Oriental in general aspect, and decidedly 
Romanist in religion. Happening to be here in the 
Lenten season we find the ladies of that faith dressed 



94 

in the habiliments of woe — black being used not as a 
sign of mourning for departed friends only, but also 
by those who have lost no relatives — in conformity 
with a feeling of sympathy in the sufferings of Christ. 

On the night before Good Friday we are the wit- 
nesses of a scene which impresses us, to say the least, 
very unpleasantly. I allude to a public procession 
arranged by the church authorities, in which a dozen 
or more life-size images representing the Saviour in 
the various stages of His passion, are borne through 
the streets upon large platforms by strong and stal- 
wart men, while solemn and funereal strains are dis- 
coursed by a band of music. In the first group of 
figures the angel is in the act of offering the cup of 
suffering to Christ in the garden. In the second the 
blood is seen flowing from the wounds produced by 
the scourging. Another represents the mother of 
Christ holding up to public gaze the handkerchief 
which he used to wipe away the bloody sweat, and 
upon which, according to tradition, the features of 
Jesus' face became indelibly impressed. The last and 
largest piece of all represents the Crucifixion. Alto- 
gether the pageant is to us revolting; not alone on 
account of the dramatic character of the whole per- 
formance, but also from the almost entire absence of 
solemnity. We are reminded by it of our own torch- 
light processions during a political campaign, only 
with the cheering and gay music left out. Alas! for 
the faith of a people that call such demonstrations as 
this a part of their religion. 

We visit the palace of the Governor-general and 



95 

find there a famous armory of the Knights of Malta, 
from whom the island was taken by the French, being 
afterward captured by the English some seventy-five 
years ago. 

In riding across the country to the Citta Vecchia 
or old town, we are reminded that on this coast the 
Apostle Paul was shipwrecked, though we cannot 
vouch for the accuracy of the location which tradi- 
tion connects with that event. There is scarcely any 
reason for doubt (though like every question, it has 
been made a subject of discussion by Biblical critics,) 
that this is the island called Melita in the account of 
Paul's voyage contained in the 27th chapter of the 
Book of Acts. 

Again we set sail, or rather get up steam, and steer 
due East. We are bound for Piraeus, the port of Ath- 
ens, where we arrive after a forty-eight hours' run. 
Having left the " Pausilippe " at Malta we are now 
on board the " Tamise," (French for Thames) of the 
same " Messageries I?/ifieriales" line. We shall con- 
tinue to be passengers on this steamer for about three 
weeks, i. e., until we reach the Holy Land. The cap- 
tain having allowed us only eight hours for our 
sojourn in Greece, we lose no time in getting ashore, 
where we engage a carriage and tell the driver to 
gallop his horses all the way to Athens — a distance of 
about six miles. It is early in the morning as we 
approach the city and have our first view of the Acrop- 
olis, rearing its great perpendicular walls high over 
all surrounding objects. 

Passing by the ruined temple of iEolus, a small 



9 6 

octagonal building of white marble, the Agora or 
Forum, the old college of Athens just exhumed from 
the debris of many centuries, and the temple of The- 
seus with its thirty Doric columns — a miniature speci- 
men of the building known as the U. S. Assay office 
in Wall street, N. Y., — we ascend toward the Acrop- 
olis by the only side which is not precipitous, and 
soon find ourselves surrounded by some of the finest 
relics of antiquity which this classic land can boast. 
Here, first, is the Pnyx, an ancient piece of masonry, a 
kind of platform where the Assembly or Democracy 
used to meet in political conclave and listen to the 
words of wisdom uttered by Demosthenes and Socra- 
tes and other great orators; a little further and 
higher up is the Areopagus or Mars hill, where once 
stood the Apostle to the Gentiles, and rebuking the 
Athenians for their idolatry, discoursed of the only 
living and true God. We reach the Acropolis proper 
by what was once a grand staircase called the Pro- 
pylaea, lined on either side with splendid columns, 
and find on the right an exquisite temple of Victor) 
erected in honor of the battle of Marathon. The 
double temple of Minerva and Neptune is another 
beautiful specimen of the Ionic order of architecture 
which stands near the building last named. But the 
crowning glory of the Acropolis is the Parthenon or 
temple of Minerva, erected under the administration 
of Pericles, B. C. 438. Though in a sad state of ruin 
sufficient yet remains to show the original dimensions 
of the building, which were as follows: Length, 227 
feet; width, 101, and height, 65. It had been pre- 



97 

served almost entire until the year 1687, when a bomb- 
shell from the Venetian fleet (then attacking the city) 
fell upon the centre of the building and scattered de- 
struction around. The temple originally had forty- 
six columns, thirty-two of these are still standing. 
The estimated cost of the Parthenon is three and a 
half million dollars. " It was adorned within and 
without with colors and gilding and with sculptures 
which are regarded as the masterpieces of ancient 
art. The colossal (ivory and gold) statue of Minerva 
which stood opposite to the entrance of the temple 
was the work of the immortal Phidias, and surpassed 
every other statue of the age except that of Jupiter 
at Olympia by the same artist." 

It is difficult to imagine what a treasure house of 
art this old Parthenon was in its prime, crowded full 
as it must have been with the sculptured works above 
mentioned, besides furnishing in the metopes of its own 
frieze, the finest specimens of heavy bas-relief in exist- 
ence. Fragments of these gems are preserved and 
exhibited in the Elgin room of the British Museum. 
In a few instances the figures are " perfect and entire, 
wanting nothing." The room containing these stat- 
ues is named from Lord Elgin, British Ambassador 
at Constantinople from 1799 to x 8o7, who "profiting 
by the weakness of Selim III., pillaged the temples of 
Greece without ceremony." The world will never 
know what it has lost in being deprived of the un- 
speakable riches of sculpture destroyed by the van- 
dalism of Turks, Venetians, Aragonese, Crusaders, 
"Byzantine iconoclasts, bigoted Christians and bar- 



barous Romans," who each in turn, during centuries 
past, have captured Athens and ravaged the Acrop- 
olis. By a long series of dilapidated steps we man- 
age to reach the roof, or rather the front cornice of 
the building, and obtain a view which will forever 
remain photographed upon the camera of memory. 
It is the month of May, about 8 o'clock in the morn- 
ing, with an unclouded sun shining down through an 
atmosphere of transparent clearness, when we stand 
upon that commanding post of observation to behold 
a scene of intrinsic loveliness, and vast historic in- 
terest. On the north, and just at our feet, lies the 
modern city of Athens, with its fine college build- 
ings and royal palace, while beyond stretches a beau- 
tiful plain, and further on the mountain range of Pen- 
telicus, famous for its splendid marbles, which fur- 
nished the material for the construction of this peer- 
less temple, and the others around. On the east is 
Mt. Hymettus, still celebrated as of old for its exqui- 
site honey. On the south we discern the JEgean Sea, 
with the islands of Egina and Salamis resting like 
pearls upon a surface of liquid blue. On the west 
appears the Isthmus of Corinth, with Mt. Parnassus 
in the background. 

But what we have seen is glory enough for one day r 
and as the watch admonishes us that the time allowed 
us has nearly expired, we hurry back to the Pineus as 
fast as we came up to Athens, alight from our car- 
riage, jump aboard the small boat which conveys us 
to our steamer, and off we go. I leave it to my read- 
ers if this isn't "doing" Greece in true Yankee style. 



99 

XIII. 
CONSTANTINOPLE. 



Out from the harbor of the Piraeus, over the blue 
vEgean (called in modern geographies the Archipel- 
ago), we glide smoothly and swiftly on past Negro- 
pont, the north-eastern headland of Greece, and the 
picturesque as well as euphoniously-named islands of 
Telos, Lesbos, Tenedos, and Mitylene. 

In about twenty-four hours we enter the Darda- 
nelles (the straits named by the ancients Hellespont), 
dividing, between the two great continents of Europe 
and Asia, a body of water about fifty miles long, 
varying in width from five to ten miles. On the 
Asiatic side was once situated the famous old city of 
Troy, of which Virgil, the Latin poet, sang in his 
beautiful hexameter beginning with the words : 

"Arma virumque cano, 
Trojse qui primus ab oris." 

Emerging from the Dardanelles, we pass up the 
Sea of Marmora, till in the distance we descry the 
minarets and domes of the great city — the city of 
Constantine. 

As it is after dark when our steamer casts anchor 
in the Bosphorus, we remain on board till the morn- 
ing, contenting ourselves for the night with a view of 
the "thousand and one " lights glimmering from the 



houses, and sending their twinkling reflection into 
the waters of the river. When daylight arrives, we 
take a survey of Constantinople from that distance 
which is said to lend enchantment to the view, ere 
we disembark and cultivate a close acquaintance with 
the interior scenes of the city; and we must confess 
that the difference between the two points of vision 
is vast and wonderful. Like other Oriental cities 
which we are yet to visit, Constantinople is very 
beautiful from afar, but very unattractive and " nasty " 
(as the English would say) near at hand. 

Stamboul (the old city) lies on a long peninsular 
piece of land which is situated between the Sea of 
Marmora and the Golden Horn. Pera and Galatea 
(districts of the new city) lie on the opposite side of 
the Golden Horn, between that and the Bosphorus. 
The Stamboul quarter is connected by a bridge with 
that of Pera, the quarter inhabited by the European 
element of the population. Having come ashore in 
a small boat, as usual, and found a comfortable place 
of lodging, we proceed to improve the occasion by 
obtaining a "firman," or permit, from the authorities 
to inspect some of the public buildings. 

The end of the Stamboul district, jutting out into 
the Bosphorus, is called " Seraglio " Point, from the 
old palace of the Sultans bearing that name, which 
occupies the ground aforesaid. 

This palace has been unoccupied for some twenty 
vears past, the Sublime Porte, as the Sultan is some- 
times called, having contracted the superstitious no- 
tion (so we are told) that the house was haunted. He 



must needs therefore incur the expense of building 
for himself a new official residence a mile or two up 
the Bosphorus, which makes a handsome appearance 
as one sails along that river. 

Passing through the charming Seraglio gardens, 
brilliant with their variegated parterres, we pay a visit 
to the armory, containing an immense collection of old 
daggers, swords, pistols and guns (better called blun- 
derbusses) ; we also traverse the Hall of the Janissa- 
ries, witnessing there an untold number of effigies, 
representing warriors of past ages, clad in a great 
variety of uniforms. The sight reminds us of a some- 
what similar collection in the Tower of London, of 
which mention was made long ago, the only differ- 
ence being that in the latter we see the relics of Occi- 
dental civilization, and in the former, types of the 
Oriental style of warfare. 

The "firman" aforementioned admits us also to 
the great Mosque of St. Sophia, a majestic pile, only 
second in size to St. Peter's, built by the Emperor 
Justinian in the fifth century as a Christian church, 
but seized by the Turks and converted into a Moham- 
medan mosque at the capture of Constantinople in 
1453. Let it be understood that a Gentile "dog" 
can be allowed to enter such a holy place as this only 
by the great condescension of the followers of the 
false prophet, and with the distinct understanding 
that they recognize the sacredness of the house by 
taking the shoes from off their feet before they enter. 
Not fancying the idea of contracting a severe cold 
by going through the mosque with nothing but 



stockings upon our feet, we compromise matters 
with the doorkeeper by purchasing a pair of very 
large leather slippers which we place over our boots, 
and so, in this interesting slipshod fashion, we shuffle 
and slide around the building to the amusement of 
all beholders. 

Passing hence, we ascend the grand Seraskierat 
tower, which commands a perfect view of the city 
and surrounding country. 

Part of another day is pleasantly spent in a horse- 
back ride around the ancient walls of Stamboul, built 
when the city was called Byzantium. Here are the 
fortifications known as " The Seven Towers." Near 
by is the sacred well, containing fishes which, it is 
said, are fried on one side, not after, but before they 
are caught. (Tell it to the marines.) 

Ere leaving the older city, a word of notice ought 
to be given to the dogs, of high and low degree, 
which infest the streets by dav and night, making 
both hideous with their incessant barkings and howl- 
ings. They are, it is true, among the most useful 
inhabitants, serving the purpose of scavengers, and 
so earning the right to live ; but, though held in such 
high esteem by the authorities (no person being per- 
mitted, under penalty of law, to harm a hair of their 
backs), they are perfect nuisances to a stranger, as he 
picks his way through the narrow and crowded thor- 
oughfares, subjected as lie is to their perpetual bark, 
if not to an occasional bite. Another "institution" 
of Constantinople — or, at least, of the waters which 
surround it on every side — is the caique, a light little 



103 

canoe-like boat, hundreds of which are seen flying 
up and down the river, propelled by one man with a 
single paddle, which he handles with great skill, 
transferring the oar rapidly from one side to the 
other, as the occasion demands, and keeping his frail 
skiff on its course, even in a strong current. Let 
any one who thinks such a feat easy to perform try it 
and learn wisdom. 

Engaging one of these caiques, we step carefully 
aboard (for a careless motion, too far from the cen- 
tre, would upset the whole affair), and squatting on 
the bottom, in the absence of any seats, we are 
whisked up the Golden Horn, at a rate by no means 
slow, till we come to a small river or stream of fresh 
water, called the "Sweet Waters of Europe," on the 
banks of which the Mohammedans assemble every 
Friday (their Sabbath), men, women and children, all 
dressed in their "Sunday best," and presenting a 
decidedly gay appearance — particularly so the ladies, 
whose outside garment, a loose robe extending from 
the shoulders to the feet, is made of silk or satin, and 
all of one color, blue, pink, or yellow, according to 
the taste of the wearer. Their faces, with the excep- 
tion of the eyes (some of them bewitchingly dark 
and lustrous, notably the Caucasian belles), are cov- 
ered with thin white lace gauze bound around the 
head, setting off to the highest advantage their lily- 
white complexions, which, alas ! are in many instances 
painted. 

Another day we devote to an excursion up the 
Bosphorus. Taking passage on one of the river 



104 

steamboats, we sail on, in full view now of the new 
palace of the Sultan, then of the Robert College at 
Bebek, and finally land at Beyoukdere. Thence we 
ascend by caique to the mouth of the straits, and, 
going ashore, mount a high bluff, from which we 
look afar out upon the vast expanse of the Black Sea. 
On our return trip we keep close in to the Asiatic 
shore, touching at Bacos, celebrated for its perennial 
springs of purest water, and sailing a little way up 
the "Sweet Waters of Asia," where the Sultan has 
another palace, small but elegant. 

As we near the city, illustrating by the noiseless 
movement of our skiff the poetry of motion, the 
view is one of almost fairy-like enchantment. The 
setting sun casts a mellow haze over the banks of the 
river clothed in freshest verdure, and, tinted with 
purple spring blossoms, the waters seem to reflect 
the glory of the heavens above, while the spires of 
the city loom up in the distance, and Seraglio Point 
stretches out its long arm into the bay, gracefully 
crowning the scene. 

Crossing by ferry-boat, over the Bosphorus, we 
visit Scutari, situated opposite Stamboul, the place 
which is associated with many thrilling scenes of 
the Crimean war. Here is a large building, serving 
now as military barracks, which during the war was 
used for a hospital. In that hospital Florence Night- 
ingale rendered her name immortal. Close by is a 
large cemetery, where lies the body of many a poor 
soldier, far away from the dust of his kindred in 
green old England, who fell on the bloody fields of 



io5 

Inkerman, or Balaklava, or Sebastopol. In the cen- 
tre of the burial ground stands a noble granite shaft, 
bearing the following inscription : — 

TO THE MEMORY 

of the 

OFFICERS AND MEN 

of the 

BRITISH ARMY AND NAVY 

who, in the 

WAR AGAINST RUSSIA, 

in 1854, 1855 and 1856, 

DIED FOR THEIR COUNTRY, 

THIS MONUMENT 

was raised by 

QUEEN VICTORIA 

AND HER PEOPLE. 

IS57. 

I have spoken of the mosques which represent the 
Mohammedan faith. Let me not close this letter 
without bearing willing testimony to the grand work 
achieved in this great city, no less than throughout 
the Turkish Empire, by the missionaries of the Gos- 
pel, who during the last forty years have been labor- 
ing here to introduce a pure faith, by supplanting the 
crescent of Islam with the cross of Christ. This is 
not the place to give the details of their work. Suf- 
fice it to say that in our intercourse with some of 
these missionaries, we find them to be noble men and 
women, not according to a princely pedigree, but of 
the blood royal of heaven. Evidences abound on 
every hand that the leaven of the Gospel is working 



io6 

through and permeating the fabric of society, and 
even the seat of government. 

The progressive spirit of the present reigning 
Sultan, as compared with the policy of his predeces- 
sors, is simply wonderful. I have alluded, e?i passant, 
to the Robert College. I would add in justice to its 
excellent founder, the late Mr. C. R. Robert, one of 
New York's best citizens, and also as a deserved trib- 
ute to its president, Rev. Dr. Cyrus Hamlin,* that this 
institution represents an excellent standard of schol- 
arship, and is fulfilling a grand mission, not only in 
the interests of the higher education, but also for the 
cause of Christian civilization. 

Having now spent a most enjoyable week in and 
around the city of the long name, we embark again, 
bound for the Mediterranean ports intervening be- 
tween Turkey and Palestine. 

* Since succeeded by the Rev. Dr. Washburn. 



107 

XIV. 
SMYRNA TO BEIRUT. 



One of the interesting features of a voyage on the 
Mediterranean is the motley assemblage the traveler 
finds on board the steamer. All kindreds and tribes 
and tongues seem to be represented in the list of 
passengers. Especially noteworthy is the company 
which occupies the forward deck. Sitting or squat- 
ting cross-legged are the Turks, with red tarboosh or 
fez on the head, with a long black silk tassel pen- 
dant therefrom— with loose jacket, cashmere girdle, 
and long zouave-like breeches. Smoking their nar- 
ghilehs and sipping their sherbet they mope in 
silence, with only an occasional word of conversation 
and almost never a laugh. At the hours of prayer- 
morning, noon and night— they "perform" their de- 
votions; for the process is so elaborate that it must 
be called a performance. Spreading out their blank- 
ets upon deck and turning their faces to the east, 
they begin their prayers standing, then kneel, and 
again once, twice, thrice they bow with their heads to 
the floor, all the time the hands being crossed upon 
the breast. This series of genuflexions repeated 
over and over again with tiresome precision, com- 
pletes the exercise. 

Among the "squatters" on deck who occupy their 
places by night as well as by day (the air being balmy 



ioS 

and soft the whole twenty-four hours round), and 
eschew the useless luxuries of berths and staterooms, 
are many swarthy-faced sons of the desert with tur- 
baned heads, black hair, piercing eyes, and sharp-cut 
features. Of those whom we meet on the promenade 
deck are tourists from England, Scotland, France, 
Germany, Italy, Russia and America. Of course the 
ubiquitous Yankee is there — inquisitive and acquisi- 
tive of every thing which may increase his knowl- 
edge, making memoranda in his note book of those 
items which may help to suppl} T materials for a series 
of foreign letters in the newspaper at home; so too, 
Brother Jonathan's cousin, Mr. John Bull is sure to 
be there, with his field-glass supported by a strap 
from his shoulder, and Murray's or Baedeker's guide- 
book in hand, to which he makes frequent reference. 
But we must let the rest of our fellow-voyagers 
pass without further description, for we have just 
entered the beautiful land-locked harbor of Smyrna, 
about thirty-six hours from Constantinople, and a 
variety of new scenes will now claim our attention. 
The city contains something like 150,000 inhabitants, 
120,000 of whom are Greeks, 16,000 Turks, 10,000 
Armenians, and the remainder a mixture of all 
nations. On each side of the bay is a range of high 
hills, and overlooking the city is a mountain crowned 
with the ruined towers of an ancient castle, immense 
in size, supposed to have been built by the Genoese. 
Mounting one of the towers we obtain a perfect coup 
Stvil of the city, which with its red-tiled roofs con- 
trasting with the verdure of the surrounding heights, 



109 

presents a very picturesque appearance. On this 
mountain is shown the ruin of the old amphithea- 
ter where Polycarp, the disciple of the Apostle John, 
suffered martyrdom, A. D. 166. 

Passing through one of the narrow and crowded 
streets on our way from the bazaar to visit the Greek 
and Armenian churches, we encounter a funeral pro- 
cession (representing the latter faith), in which the 
uncoffined body with face exposed, is borne by attend- 
ants, preceded by the priest intoning the service for 
the dead. 

A large trade in dried fruits, especially figs, is 
prosecuted from this city. Some of my readers will 
associate this idea with a game played in social cir- 
cles which repeat the sentence, " Malaga raisins are 
very fine raisins, but the raisins of Smyrna are better." 
Re-embarking after a sojourn here of two days, Ave 
soon pass the islands of Samos and Trogyllium men- 
tioned by Paul in his travels, and catch a view in the 
dim distance of the rocky shore of Patmos, where 
John was favored when an exile for the testimony of 
Jesus Christ, with that wonderful apocalyptic vision 
of the New Jerusalem described in the Book of the 
Revelation. Our experience to-day in sailing among 
the numerous islands, large and small, over these 
clear, shining waters, and under the cloudless azure 
of an eastern sky, has been one of the richest and 
most enjoyable ever vouchsafed to poor mortals in 
this wicked world. It being the Sabbath we sit on 
deck under the awning which shades us from the too 
piercing rays of the noon-tide sun, and listen to a ser- 



mon read by a good Scotch clergyman. Seeing also 
(as I have just said), Patmcs in the distance, and pass- 
ing one locality after another made memorable by the 
great apostle to the Gentiles, it is impossible not to 
be deeply impressed by all these hallowed associa- 
tions, impossible not to be made better by the influ- 
ence of such a day as this. 

Our next stopping place is the curious old island 
of Rhodes, mentioned in Acts 21:1 ; "And it came to 
pass that after we were gotten from them (the elders 
at Miletus near Ephesus), and had launched, we came 
with a straight course unto Cocs* and the day follow- 
ing unto Rhodes." The city of this name, though 
not large, is quite imposing to look upon, having 
strong fortifications along the shore, with a bastion 
or tower 120 feet high rising from the centre of the 
mole; while behind these are many dwelling houses 
and mosques (each with its minarets), thickly inter- 
spersed with trees. Having landed we wend our way 
up the street of the chevaliers lined on either side 
with antique buildings bearing the old armorial de- 
signs and heraldic entablatures of the Knights of 
St. John (Hospitalers) who captured the island from 
the Saracens in 1309. On one of these houses we 
notice the familiar date of 1492, indicating, of course* 
the year of its erection. At the head of this street 
are the ruins of a comparatively modern church ( St. 
John's), destroyed only a few years since by an acci- 
dental explosion of gunpowder. At the entrance to 

* The Modern Chio, recently devastated by a terrible earth- 
quake. 



the harbor we note the place where the famous Colos- 
sus is said to have stood — a great brazen man, so tall 
that between his extended legs ships of the largest 
size used to pass ! Credat Judceus Apella. 

In a few hours we are off again, steaming along the 
coast of Cilicia and Lycia, turning the south-western 
corner of Asia Minor, out of the Archipelago, once 
more into the Mediterranean. It is not many hours 
before we reach Mersina, a small and insignificant 
place, but of some interest, at least to Biblical stu- 
dents, as being the port of Tarsus where Paul was 
born. We walk along the shore gathering pebbles 
and then stroll through the town which a Scotch 
friend declares to be in his opinion "a little more 
dirty and odorous than is common for this country." 
A part of our ship's company being very anxious to> 
see Tarsus, set out on the ride to that place upon the 
backs of the poorest kind of pack horses. The cap- 
tain had told them they would find it very difficult to 
go and return in time for the steamer's departure, but 
off they go. Consequence — what ? A part of them 
manage to get on board by the "skin of their teeth," 
and the rest are left behind. I understand that of the 
latter number, one who is a clergyman (but not the 
writer of these letters), is disposed, so far as his ob- 
servation goes, to call in question the statement of 
Paul (Acts 21:39) tnat Tarsus was no "mean city." 
As that steamer vanished from sight leaving him two 
days in Mersina to await the coming of the next 
boat, everything in that region looked to him '•'■mighty 
mean." The Taurus range of mountains makes a fine 



background to the picture as we take a last view of 
Mersina, while our course is directed south-east- 
ward. 

Cutting across the north-east angle of this great 
inland sea, we cast anchor in a few hours at Alexan- 
drette or Iskanderoon, the port of Aleppo, three days 
journey from the coast. Here the Amanus moun- 
tains, a branch of the Taurus, tower up just before 
us to the height of about 5,000 feet, making the out- 
look grand and beautiful in the extreme, especially 
as the mountains are covered with verdure almost to 
their summits, which is a rare circumstance for this 
part of the world. Lattakia, a few miles down the 
Syrian coast, where we remain a few hours (but do 
not go ashore), is noted for nothing unless it be its 
fine brand of tobacco, which is not worth mentioning, 
as the world would be sweeter and happier than it is 
if it had never heard of the weed. At Tripoli where 
we anchor awhile, the most prominent object which 
appears to our sight from the steamer's deck is a 
great ruined castle which is supposed to have been 
erected by Raymond of Toulouse, in the days of the 
Crusaders. 

Here the snowy peaks of Lebanon first appear to 
our vision. After one more night we come in sight 
of Beirut, and soon find ourselves within the ample 
enclosure of its magnificent bay, hardly inferior to 
that of Naples and very similar to it in the semi-cir- 
cular bend of its coast. Our steamer has hardly come 
to a stand-still before a swarm of small boats has sur- 
rounded it, out of which comes a squad of scurvy 



"3 

Arabs who scale the sides of the ship in a moment 
and begin their horrible clamor, catching hold of our 
baggage and pulling in opposite directions to see 
who can enjoy the privilege of rowing us ashore, and 
so of making a little backsheesh. Knowing nothing 
about their prices and caring less, we think only of 
the safety of our traps, and with the kind assistance 
of the captain, who belabors the fellows' heads with 
his rattan cane, chaos is reduced to order and we get 
safely ashore. Sojourning here a few days we enjoy 
many delightful interviews with the missionaries who 
are doing a grand civilizing and Christianizing work 
in this benighted land. In shopping among the 
bazaars we find the warehouses consisting of little 
square rooms opening full upon the street, with no 
window or door to obstruct the view. The shop- 
keeper sits, Turkish fashion, upon the floor, elevated 
some three feet above the roadway, and calling out 
his wares drums up customers. We enjoy two or 
three grand horseback rides up and down the coast, 
one northwards a few miles, to Nahr el Kelb, or Dog 
river, a wild gorge in the Lebanon through which the 
river flows into the sea, and where upon the rocks we 
find some old Roman inscriptions dating back to A. 
D. 173, and Persian has reliefs of an earlier period. 
Another excursion is southward to Ras Beirut, an 
eminence commanding a fine view of the city, bay 
and Lebanon — a locality too, interesting to the geol- 
ogist for its strange formations of sandstone and 
flint rocks. A third trip we take up the Lebanon to 
Suk el Gharb and Abeih, where we find mission sta- 



H4 

tions and panoramic views of surpassing beauty and 
grandeur. 

Coming down the mountain we rest on the Sabbath 
at Beirut and attend divine service where the Rev. 
Dr. Jessup preaches to the natives in their own gut- 
tural Arabic. His text is from Matthew 4:7, "Thou 
shalt not tempt the Lord thy God," and it sounds to 
our uninitiated ears like this: "Limarza ti jur ub boo 
tir-r-r-rub* The men sit apart from the women, and 
likewise in the Sabbath school the boys are separated 
from the girls by a screen. They pay close attention 
to the exercises and sing sweetly some of our famil- 
iar children's tunes, albeit "in accents of an unknown 
tongue." The Protestant college here, under the 
presidency of Rev. Daniel Bliss, D.D., is accomplish- 
ing the same noble work for Syria which the Robert 
college is doing for Turkey. 

The herculean task of translating the Scriptures 
into the pure classic Arabic was completed a few 
years since by our own Dr. Van Dyke — an Oriental 
scholar who has not his superior in the world — a man 
for whom America has good reason to be thankful, if 
not proud. Long may he and his excellent co-labor- 
ers be spared to reap the fruits of joy from fields they 
have sown in tears. 

* One of the missionaries, after seeing this imitation, informed 
me that the sounds indicated by these collocations of English 
letters, closely resembled the guttural tones of the Arabic original 



H5 

XV. 
JAFFA AND JERUSALEM. 



Having engaged our guide or dragoman, Abou 
Kheir by name, at Beirut for the trip to Palestine 
proper (Beirut being in Syria, outside of the real 
limits of the Holy Land, and farther north than the 
Saviour is known to have journeyed), we reembark 
on another of these fine Mediterranean steamers for 
Jaffa, about one hundred and fifty miles down the 
coast. The harbor of Beirut looks grandly, with its 
fleet of English, French and Russian war ships, as 
we bid farewell to its bright and beautiful waters. 
Wherever we go we find these vessels lying at an- 
chor, with their colors flying at the peak, and repre- 
senting the various civilized nations of the world. 
With their powerful guns pointing through the port- 
holes, they seem to look a kind of grim and sullen 
defiance at each other, as much as to say, " Touch me 
if you dare." 

But, happily, the nations are at peace just now; so, 
in spite of these warlike paraphernalia, which must 
be considered a necessary precaution for the protec- 
tion of the citizens of each nation residing in foreign 
ports, we rejoice to anticipate the day when wars 
shall no more be known, and when these cannon 
shall be used only to celebrate in thunder-tones the 
dawning of the glad millennial morning. 



n6 

After a calm and starry night upon the deep, we 
wake to find our steamer already anchored off Jaffa 
(the ancient Joppa,) a city built upon a rising piece 
of land, and quite imposing to look upon. There is 
absolutely no harbor here, the coast being rocky or 
abounding in reefs, so that unless the weather is 
pleasant, steamers, even though carrying passengers 
bound from Beirut or Alexandria, are unable to 
make a landing, and therefore are compelled to pro- 
ceed on their course, letting the disappointed tourists 
find their way back to their desired haven as best they 
may. But we are favored with a fine morning for 
our arrival, so there is only the usual delay in get- 
ting ashore consequent upon the inevitable din and 
tumult of vociferous and pestiferous porters fighting 
for possession of our baggage. 

The babel of tongues is something awful to encoun- 
ter. "Bedlam broken loose" does not begin to express 
it. It is doubtful whether we should survive the 
ordeal had we not been so fortunate as to secure the 
services of a dragoman beforehand, who, being an 
Arab, is able to do the talking for us, and look the 
impudent scalawags out of countenance, until they 
allow us to descend without further trouble to the 
row-boat, in which we are conveyed through the 
breakers, by stalwart oarsmen, to land. But, alas ! 
our trials are by no means ended, for on reaching the 
pier or dock (or whatever you choose to call it — any 
respectable name was too good for it) we find no 
steps by which to ascend from the boat to the level of 
the city (say five feet above us), but only two or three 



U7 

holes in the perpendicular planking, wherein we are 
told to plant our toes, while a couple (nay a dozen or 
thereabouts) of these barbarous natives, with out- 
stretched hands, clutch at us and pull, haul and jerk 
us up, till we stand upon the dock safe, but not so 
sound as we prefer to be. 

One is likely to find himself a trifle the worse for 
wear to his muscles, if not nerves, for some little 
time after that landing at Jaffa. We are compelled 
to say it is simply an outrage to civilized human 
beings, but only one of the many annoyances which 
a man must make up his mind to endure before he 
sets out for a journey to the East. 

Our first object of search is a hotel where we can 
rest awhile, and refresh the inner man before we pro- 
ceed to look about the city, and prepare for the in- 
land journey. The " Palestine " Hotel, where we 
procure something called breakfast and dinner, does 
not deserve any extended notice at my hand. I dis- 
miss the subject by expressing the hope that other 
travelers may give the " Palestine " a wide berth, un- 
less they are perfectly indifferent as to the quality of 
food they eat, especially the butter. We visit the re- 
puted house of Simon the tanner, and find a square 
stone structure plainly of modern origin with one 
large empty room, and pass away more incredulous 
than we came. It is true, Simon's house where Peter 
tarried a few days, and on the roof of which he had the 
wonderful vision of the great sheet let down from 
heaven, was by the sea-side, and so is this; but it is 



n8 

folly to try to identify the house, after the lapse ot 
eighteen hundred years. 

We recall to mind before leaving the city that the 
prophet Jonah, when bidden of the Lord to go to 
Nineveh, ran down to this place, and here, having 
paid his passage-money for the voyage to Tarshish 
(supposed to be in Spain), just as far in the wrong 
direction as it was possible for him to go, he em- 
barked and came to grief. 

Jaffa has been the scene of many a bloody struggle. 
A great battle occurred here between the Saracens 
and King Baldwin I. of Jerusalem, in 1102. It was 
retaken and strongly fortified by Lewis IX. of France 
in 1252. Falling into the hands of the Turks, the 
city was besieged by Napoleon I. and captured 
March 7th, 1799, since which time it has passed again 
into the possession of the Turks. 

Having secured horses for the journey Zionward, 
we mount, and are soon passing out of the city 
through the beautiful groves of orange and lemon 
trees which load the air with their delicious fragrance, 
and furnish us with the juiciest of fruit at the insig- 
nificant price of two for a penny. Fairly outside the 
walls, we find ourselves moving along over the ver- 
dant plain of Sharon. The road is wide, and no 
fences separate the highway from the cultivated 
fields. There are no wheeled vehicles in all the land, 
the streets of the cities being too narrow to admit of 
them, and many portions of the road (through the 
rural districts) consisting of nothing but bridle- 
paths. But very few houses are to be seen, the 



iig 



country being quite thinly populated. Occasionally 
we meet a camel on the journey, with mild and stupid 
eye, large uncouth form, and slow but stately tread. 
High up on his back rides the Arab driver, singing 
some monotonous ditty, or perchance chewing his 
bread and olives, now and then pausing to make 
some guttural noise to his beast, which translated 
into good English would be found to mean "get up," 
or "g'long," or something of that sort. 

I mav say, just here, that these strong and muscu- 
lar Arabs are addicted to the very frugal diet above 
mentioned. It is wonderful how they can live on 
such simple food, but somehow they manage to thrive 
upon it. Give them plenty of bread and olives, and 
they ask no more. The kind of bread they eat would 
be a curiosity, if not a " caution," to the thrifty house- 
wives of New England who compete with one another 
at the annual fairs of the agricultural society for the 
best home-made loaves of that article. It is a thin, 
wafer-like substance, made of wheat or barley flour, 
indeed, but baked on a round, convex-shaped pan, 
and when done, as it is in a few minutes, taken and 
folded up like a large pancake, and laid away in sack 
or pocket for use when required. The olives are 
green berries with an acrid taste, yet nutritious and 
wholesome to those who like them. As far as my 
experience goes, I am disposed to pronounce fond- 
ness for olives an acquired taste. 

In three hours (distances are measured in this land 
by hours instead of miles, the rate being three to four 



miles an hour), we reach Ramleh,a small village sup- 
posed to be the ancient Arimathea. 

It is about sunset on a Saturday evening when we 
arrive at this place ; so we seek lodging in the Latin 
Convent, and lay our plans to spend the Sabbath 
quietly here. The old monks, given to entertaining 
strangers, receive us hospitably and make us com- 
fortable with good bed and board. Sauntering forth 
after tea, we make our way toward a ruined stone 
tower, some one hundred feet high, along whose 
dilapidated steps we ascend to the summit and enjoy 
an extensive and beautiful view of the plain of 
Sharon, its green carpet all dotted over with flowers, 
and stretching north and south as far as the eye can 
reach, the mountains of Judea skirting it on the east 
and the Mediterranean on the west. The origin of 
this tower is not certainly known, but it is supposed 
to have been connected with a Christian church 
dating possibly from the time of the Crusades. 
Looking upon this scene, lighted with the vertical 
rays of a clear Syrian sun, there seems to be an air 
of most perfect repose resting upon every object. No 
sound but the humming of insects, the occasional 
bark of a dog, or bleat of a sheep, or cry of a child, 
is heard to break upon the sweet and holy stillness of 
that hour. 

The Sabbath passes pleasantly by, the quiet of the 
convent being occasionally interspersed with the 
music of the monks, as they worship in the chapel, 
and the ringing of the morning and evening bell. A 
graceful palm in the enclosure — the building forming 



a quadrangle or hollow square — attracts our atten- 
tion, the first fine specimen of this kind of tree we 
have seen. It reminds us, in its thriftiness and 
beauty, as well as in the abundance of its fruitfulness, 
of the comparison of the righteous to the palm-tree 
(used by the psalmist), and also of another passage 
wherein David, thinking doubtless of the custom here 
exemplified of placing palms within sacred precincts, 
says : — " They that be planted in the house of the 
Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God." 

Bright and early on Monday morning we bid the 
monks adieu, leave a gratuity in the treasure box, 
and start for the Holy City. 

For three or four miles we journey over the plain, 
encountering a few showers which cool the air, then 
strike into the hill country and pick our way along 
the roughest kind of stony paths, the poor beasts 
slipping and stumbling over loose rocks, and again 
sliding down the smooth side of a boulder. The ride 
for many miles is quite similar to one's experience 
in ascending Mt. Washington from the Crawford 
House. Reaching a good halting place, not far from 
the ancient Kirjath Jearim, where the ark of God 
rested twenty years on its way to Jerusalem, we lunch 
under the cool shade of an old tree. From this point 
the time is but an hour and a half to the city of David. 

Coming in full view of it from the top of a hill, 
about a mile distant, the traveler is usually disap- 
pointed in the size of Jerusalem, though its general 
aspect is quite picturesque. But a near acquaintance 
dispels any impressions of beauty which one may 



have conceived. Entering by the Jaffa gate we find 
the streets are like those of other Oriental cities, only 
a a great deal more so! They are not only narrow, 
filthy and crowded, but many of them are entirelv 
roofed over, passing through houses, and therefore 
dark and dismal. 

We are constrained to ask ourselves, in the words 
of the prophet, Is this the city that men called the 
perfection of beauty, the joy of the whole earth, the 
city of the great King? Surely, Ichabod is written 
upon every part of it, for the glory has departed. 

But, while I speak thus the unvarnished and unpal- 
atable truth, it should be remembered that we have 
not come to see Jerusalem as it is, so much as to 
muse on the associations of the past, in the midst of 
the localities made forever sacred by the footsteps of 
the Son of God. 

In connection with the foregoing statements con- 
cerning the roughness of the journey from Jaffa to 
Jerusalem, it should be said that a railway is now in 
process of construction between these two cities, if 
indeed it be not already completed and in operation. 
Much as we may regret such a practical demonstra- 
tion of the progressive spirit of this Age of Iron, 
invading even the Holy Land with the sacrilegious 
screech of the locomotive, we cannot but congratu- 
late tourists who are about visiting those parts on 
their exemption from the fatigue and tedium of the 
way experienced by their predecessors. 



123 

XVI. 
THE CITY OF DAVID. 



Among the curious customs of this land is the 
wearing of loose sandals or half-and-half shoes, which 
the people slip off their feet on entering a house. It 
is considered the height of indecorum for one to cross 
the threshold of a friend's residence with his shoes 
on. It is not so strange that this custom (which 
comes down from the ancient time when God said to 
Moses at the burning bush, " Put off thy shoes from 
off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is 
holy ground") should apply, as I have intimated in 
connection with our visit to the Mosque of St. Sophia 
at Constantinople, to sacred places ; but that it should 
be made to govern one's movements in entering a 
private house seems to us singular. The sight of a 
row of shoes by the doorway is somewhat amusing. 
One cannot help wondering in case of a large party 
how the men manage to keep their sandals from get- 
ting so mixed up with those of their neighbors, that 
each shall be unable to identify his own property. 
Another funny specimen of foot-gear is what goes 
by the name of kob-kobs, consisting of a flat wooden 
sole held to the foot by a leather band across the toes 
and supported at a height of about six inches above 
the ground by a couple of perpendicular pieces of 
wood. These are used principally in wet weather. 



124 

The chief advantage accruing from the kob-kobs 
is confined to short people, for six inches added to 
the stature of one of this class may be considered 
quite sufficient to make a tall man of him.- But the 
trouble of navigating with such encumbrances on 
the feet is rather too great to allow of an American 
trying to introduce the fashion into his own country. 
The Orientals are a slow moving people; as for us. 
we should in our hurry and drive find such stilted 
shoes as these entirely useless. 

I have alluded to the praying done by the Moham- 
medans on ship-board. It is interesting to stand near 
one of the mosques (of which there are many in Jeru- 
salem) at the hour of prayer and listen to the muezzin 
as from his high station at the top of the minaret, in 
loud and ringing tones he calls the people to their 
devotions. And it matters not where the faithful 
Moslem may be, walking the street, or plying his 
trade or driving his camel, down he falls upon his 
knees and prays. 

We find on reaching this land that the great Fast 
of Ramadan (so called from the ninth month in the 
Mohammedan year), is in process of observance. 
During the continuance of this Fast the people do an 
unusual amount of praying and abstain rigidly 
between sunrise and sunset, each day, from food and 
drink; but while a few of the most devoted ones 
observe the same rule of prayer and fasting through 
the night, most of them square the account by giving 
way to unusual indulgence after sunset and actually 
make night hideous with their revelry. 



125 

It seems pitiful indeed, to find that the government 
which represents all this superstition and religious 
fanaticism holds the reins of power in this, the city 
associated with so many incidents in the life of Jesus 
Christ, and especially with the closing scene of His 
sacrificial death upon the cross of Calvary. Yet so it 
is and has been since the 16th century, in possession 
of the Turks, having changed its Moslem masters 
many times, for four centuries previous to 15 17, and 
antecedent to that taken in 1099 by the Crusaders, 
who rescued the city from the Saracens, into whose 
hands it had fallen in 1076, they having captured it 
from the Romans. Though the Turkish Sultan is 
the ruler of the land to-day, much freedom is allowed 
to other religious sects in Jerusalem, as appears from 
the fact that the Jews have their synagogues here, 
and Latin and Greek Catholics, besides Armenians 
their houses of worship. Moreover the rights of each 
are respected. 

"The city lieth four square." Though not precisely 
equilateral or rectangular, the walls (for it is a walled 
city, with numerous towers or bastions) form a quad- 
rilateral. They are not a powerful means of defence 
however, being but thirty to forty feet high and of 
no very solid construction. A park of our modern 
artillery would make a breach in them in short metre. 
We enter (as I have said), by the Jaffa gate or Tower 
of David, from the west. On the north is the 
Damascus gate, on the east, St. Stephen's gate, and 
on the south, Zion gate. The city is much smaller 
than one would naturally suppose from the impres- 



126 

sions which had been formed in his mind by reading 
of it — not more than three to four miles in circum- 
ference, and a mile or so in a straight line from side 
to side. Securing accommodations at the Prussian 
Hospice, where the charges are far more moderate 
than at the Mediterranean Hotel, we ascend to the 
roof of the building and survey the scene. The 
houses are built uniformly of the limestone of the 
country, square, two-storied, with dome-shaped roofs. 
On the east is the Mt. of Olives, and on all sides are 
hills, reminding us of the beautiful words of David: 
"As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so 
the Lord is round about His people, from henceforth 
even forever." Jerusalem stands on an elevated 
plateau, 2500 feet above the sea, with deep ravines 
surrounding it. With the exception of the Mount of 
Olives, the eminences are only hills, and not much 
higher than the level of the city. 

Calling upon the American Consul we secure the 
services of his cawass or guard, who, wearing his 
sword and bearing the staff of office, conducts us to 
the building used as barracks for the Turkish soldiers, 
occupying the site on which once stood the Castle 
Antonia where Paul was taken after his arrest and 
from the steps of which he made that thrilling speech 
to the people recorded in Acts 22: 1-21. Here, 
mounting the roof, we look off into the great area or 
enclosure, in the midst of which, on the very ground 
whereon once stood Solomon's magnificent Temple, 
now the mosque of Omar, a curious octagonal struct- 
ure with its graceful dome, rears its stately form. It 



127 

is evident that the predictions of Christ, with refer- 
ence to the Temple, have been fulfilled, for not one 
stone thereof has been left upon another. When the 
Roman general Titus captured the city, A. D. 70, 
after subjecting the inhabitants to all the horrors of a 
long siege with its attendant scourges, famine and 
pestilence, causing the death, it is said, of something 
like a million people, he razed this edifice to the 
ground and carried back to Rome, as trophies of war, 
the sacred vessels which he found therein. As for 
this famous mosque of Omar, I am unable to give any 
account of its interior from personal observation, for 
being an exceedingly holy spot in Moslem eyes, it is 
only with great difficulty, or by the payment of heavy 
backsheesh, that admittance is granted to the "gentiles. "* 
So we pass on, satisfied with the exterior view of its 
walls. 

Returning we wend our way along the Via Dolorosa 
(the supposed route followed by our Lord from the 
hall of judgment to the mount of crucifixion), to 
the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, a building rather 
imposing but quite dilapidated from the many vicis- 
situdes through which it has passed. It is said to have 
been first erected by the Empress Helena, mother of 
Constantine, in the year 326; destroyed in 614 by the 
Persians ; rebuilt and destroyed again by Hakim in 
1010; rebuilt by the Crusaders in 1103; reduced to 
ashes by fire in 1808; rebuilt in 1810, and so it con- 
tinues to this day. It is probable, from the air of 
hoary antiquity that pervades this building within 
and without, that a portion of the original material 



128 

which entered into its construction remains incorpo- 
rated in the present edifice. Three rival sects, Latin, 
Greek and Armenian, are tolerated within its walls, 
and are permitted to maintain public worship in sep- 
arate chapels of their own, in the same great building. 
And what is more, within distinct hearing of each 
other, and simultaneously they say their masses and 
chant their litanies, evidently using their best lung- 
power to see which can make the most noise, and so 
compel the others to keep quiet, until the strongest 
party has had his own way and retired from the field. 
The natural effect of all this religious rivalry is fear- 
fully bewildering and confusing to the visitor. I am 
inclined to give the palm to the Greek Catholics who 
have "stolen a march" on their Latin and Armenian 
brethren, by providing themselves with a large organ 
which is going at full blast all the time that we re- 
main in the building, to the utter dismay of their fel- 
low worshipers, whose pulmonary powers stand no 
chance when brought into competition with the bel- 
lows of a pipe organ. A guard of Turkish soldiers 
is kept constantly at the entrance to the Church to 
keep the peace. To the devout Christian a visit to 
this place is productive of far more pain than pleas- 
ure. Underneath the dome (the building being a 
rotunda with side chapels), is the reputed sepulchre 
of Christ, consisting of a small stone temple-like 
structure, into which you pass through a very low 
portal and find yourself in a small room about six 
feet by seven, lighted with many gold and silver 
hanging lamps, a marble couch on which the dead 
Christ is said to have lain, occupying nearly all the 



129 

space. Descending into the crypt of one of the 
chapels, aforesaid, the guide shows us the place where 
Helena found part of the true cross. But why should 
we give heed to these vain traditions and supersti- 
tions of men ? There is not the remotest probability 
that the cross originally stood here. The main divis- 
ion of opinions is between two sites, a half mile or 
more distant from this spot; one locating Calvary 
outside the walls near St. Stephen's gate, the other 
near the Damascus gate. It is not certainly known 
and never will be, just where Christ was crucified or 
buried, and we may well believe that God has con- 
cealed these and many other sacred localities from the 
knowledge of men, lest they should be tempted to 
attach undue reverence to the material adjuncts and 
surroundings of Christ's sojourn on earth, to the 
detriment of the spiritual meaning of the great truths 
He came into the world to proclaim. 

We visit the wailing-place of the Jews in the south- 
east part of the city, over against the ancient wall of 
the Temple enclosure, only a fragment of this wall, 
say 150 feet long and 20 feet high, standing exposed 
to view. The stones are very large and hewn with 
beveled edges, dating, it is thought, from the days of 
Herod, if not earlier. Here the Jews assemble every 
Friday afternoon and weep over the ruins of the holy 
and beautiful house in which their fathers worshiped. 
And while they weep they chant in mournful cadences 
from the 79th Psalm : "Oh ! God, the heathen are 
come into thine inheritance; thy holy temple have 
they defiled; they have laid Jerusalem in heaps." 
Near this place, in a continuation of the Avail, we find 
9 



13° 

the beginning of an arch, a few immense stones be- 
longing originally to a bridge which connected Mt. 
Zion with Mt. Moriah across the Tyropaeon valley. 
According to the best calculations, this bridge must 
have been 350 feet in length and supported by five 
arches. 

Near Zion gate is situated the lepers' quarters. As 
we pass by their huts we catch a glimpse of a few 
victims of this fearful disease, with parts of their 
bodies eaten away by its ravages; the same malady 
which afflicted Naaman, the Syrian, in the days of 
Elijah ; the same which Christ healed in so many 
instances. Yes, here it is, still consuming the poor 
bodies of dying men. Surely, it is a perfect type of 
the moral leprosy sin, not only in its terrible effects 
but also in the tenacity and longevity of its hold 
upon the race. 

The contrast between the Jerusalem in which Christ 
sojourned and the city which we visit to-day, is un- 
speakably great. Words are inadequate to describe 
it. If any of my readers would receive a correct im- 
pression of the change which has been wrought here 
in the eighteen centuries past, let them embrace the 
first opportunity to examine Selous' two great paint- 
ings — Ancient and Modern Jerusalem — paintings 
which represent the facts with great artistic power 
and historic accuracy. 

"Oh! Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the 
prophets and stonest them that are sent unto thee, how 
often would I have gathered thee, even as a hen gath- 
ers her brood under her wings, but ye would not; 
behold your house is left unto you desolate." 



I3i 

XVII. 
ROUND ABOUT ZION. 



About half a mile north of Jerusalem are the tombs 
of the Kings— large, subterranean vaults hewn out 
of the limestone rock, which we enter by a very 
low and narrow door. We crawl through the open- 
ing on hands and knees, and examine the apartments 
with the light of a torch. We should be more inter- 
ested in the exploration if we could be informed 
what kings were once buried here, if any, but nobody 
seems to know. There are no indications of sarco- 
phagi or human remains in the vaults, but they have 
evidently been used as a burying place, or at least, 
were constructed with that design in view. 

Passing down to the valley of Hinnom bv the 
lower pool of Gihon, we come to a building called 
the tomb of David, though it looks no more like a 
tomb than an ordinary dwelling house. The same 
uncertainty with reference to the identity of the 
place attaches to this as to so many other localities 
in and around the holy city. This reputed tomb of 
David is a very sacred spot, and no Gentile is ad- 
mitted within the consecrated enclosure. We are 
told of one lady, however, daughter of Dr. Barclay, 
the American Consul at Jerusalem, who, by a device 
of womanly strategy secured an entrance, once upon 
a time, but no one has dared to imitate her example. 



132 

In the second story of this building is the room called 
cccnaculnm, or supper room, connected by tradition with 
the last Passover which our Lord ate with his dis- 
ciples. 

Thence we descend into the valley of Jehoshaphat, 
on the easterly side of the city. Here we find the 
pool of Siloam still sending forth its sweet, clear 
waters "fast by the oracles of God." This locality is 
really genuine. To this spring repaired the blind man 
whose eyes Christ annointed with clay; hither he 
came at the bidding of the Master and washed and 
went away rejoicing in the power of sight. The 
spring is situated at one end of an excavation, walled 
up on either side, and somewhat dilapidated in its 
masonry, so that we have to descend about fifteen 
feet over rough stones in order to stoop down and 
scoop up in our cup a good draught of the refresh- 
ing water. We find this pool spoken of in the book 
of Nehemiah (3:15), where it is stated that "Shallum, 
the son of Col-hozeh, (445 B. C.) built the wall of 
the pool of Siloah by the king's garden, and unto the 
stairs that go down from the city of David." Near 
by is a little village or collection of hovels, called 
Siloam, where, as we pass by, a company of wailing 
women attracts our attention. A child of one of the 
families of the place is dead and this is the perform- 
ance of hired mourners, according to the custom of 
the country. Forming a ring of about thirty women 
they keep moving in the circle, round and round, 
uttering discordant cries and shrieks, tearing their 
hair and beating their broasts, while to increase the 



133 

din, a man sitting near pounds away on a torn torn or 
rude kind of drum. 

Further up the valley we come to the tomb of 
Zechariah and St. James, structures of some beauty 
and symmetry, cut out of the rock. The pillar of 
Absalom is more like a solid monument than an obe- 
lisk, with curious conical top and broad square base. 
Against this lies a large heap of loose stones, cast up 
by the people as a symbol of the contempt in which 
they hold the memory of him who rose in rebellion 
against his royal father and drove him a fugitive, from 
his throne. This is a common custom of the land. 
In journeying through the country the traveler finds 
not infrequently a pile of stones marking the last 
resting place of some one who has led a wicked life. 

The sides of this valley are dotted all over with 
grave stones, a strong conviction possessing the Jews 
that those who are buried here will be the first to 
come forth at the sound of the Archangel's trumpet 
on the resurrection morning. The origin of this 
superstition seems to be found in the third chapter of 
Joel's prophecy, at the twelfth verse, "Let the 
heathen (better translated nations), be wakened and 
come up to the valley of Jehoshaphat; for here will 
I sit to judge all the nations round about." 

A little way bevond Absalom's pillar is the reputed 
garden of Gethsemane. Whether or not it be the 
true locality, we are unable to say, for opinions dif- 
fer; but it seems to us at least, very probably the 
identical spot where "the suffering Saviour prayed 
alone." It is enclosed by a high stone wall (since 



134 

replaced by a wooden fence), of course modern in its 
construction. Within are seven very ancient olive 
trees. The brook Kedron, across which the Saviour 
went "on that last night when he was betrayed," still 
flows down the valley during and after the winter 
rains, but the river-bed is dry in the summer. 

We now ascend the Mount of Olives (what we 
would call in America a good sized hill), the summit 
of which is, I should say, about 600 feet from the 
level of the valley, and about 200 feet above the city. 
From this point we have a commanding view of 
Jerusalem and its environs. On the eastern slope of 
Olivet is situated a small village occupying the site 
of ancient Bethany and now bearing the Arabic 
name Elazir, or Lazarus. The people pretend to in- 
dicate the tomb or excavation in the rock where lay 
the dead body of him whom the mighty man of Gali- 
lee raised to life after he had been four days dead. 
But there is no certainty in the matter. 

In laying our plans for a visit to the Jordan we are 
so fortunate as to "hit upon" the time of the annual 
pilgrimage of the Greek Catholics to that sacred 
river. With the company of two young Germans 
whose acquaintance we have made at the Hospice, 
we join ourselves to the caravan as it moves out of 
St. Stephen's gate, down the valley, up the mountain, 
and so on past Bethany down and down toward Jer- 
icho. I emphasize the word down because the descent 
from Jerusalem is so great. As already stated, the 
holy city is 2,500 feet above the Mediterranean, and 
the valley of the Jordan is 1,300 feet Mow the sea 



135 

level, making the whole descent, as you see, nearly 
4,000 feet in a distance of about ten miles. The road 
is rough and wild, in some places surrounded by 
walls of rock and admirably adapted as a hiding place 
for thieves, who still, as in the time of Christ, infest 
this route. After a ride of about three hours, in the 
course of which we are more interested in watching 
the movements of our caravan (numbering about a 
thousand people — men, women and children — riding 
mostly upon camels, a few like ourselves preferring 
horseback to the "sea-sick" swing of the dromedary), 
than in studying the features of an uninteresting 
country, we reach the edge of the mountains whence 
the outlook is extensive and grand, where, too we 
descry the course of the Jordan, not by a view of its 
waters but by noting amidst a sterile plain the line of 
verdure produced by its irrigation. From this point 
the road is precipitous as it winds into the valley. 
Soon we reach our destination and find a tent already 
pitched for us by our dragoman, whom we had sent 
ahead to prepare the way before us. We are close 
to the encampment of 400 Turkish soldiers whom the 
government details as a guard to the caravan. This, 
with the tents of the pilgrims, makes quite an array. 
So all our surroundings are grand and imposing. 
Sitting in our tent door we are in full view of Mt. 
Quarantana, so called from the tradition which asso- 
ciates it with the forty days temptation of Christ in 
the wilderness. About a mile northward we find the 
spring Ain es Sultan, whose bitter waters were healed 
by the prophet Elijah. Our camp is situated on the 



136 

supposed site of Jericho, not a stone of which remains. 
Though it was called the city of palms not a tree of 
any kind is visible. One of our German friends had 
made no preparations for lodging on the plains, sup- 
posing that he could procure comfortable apartments 
in the Jericho hotel, but having reckoned without his 
host he is glad enough to find room for the sole of 
his feet and the crown of his head under our protect- 
ing canvas. 

The Jordan valley is ten miles wide, with the 
mountains of Moab on the east and those of Judea 
on the west. Having slept under the bright shining 
stars as soundly as the occasional braying of an ass 
tethered outside our tent would permit us, we find 
before daybreak, the whole camp astir and the pil- 
grims beginning their march to the river. In two 
hours from the start we stand "on Jordan's stormy 
banks," a swift flowing but muddy and turbulent 
stream, about forty yards wide at this point where 
the children of Israel are supposed to have made 
their crossing. Not far from here too, it is thought 
that Jesus was baptized of John. A luxuriant growth 
of water willows, tamarisks and oleanders, forms a 
pleasant contrast to the desert land around. We 
watch with eager interest while the pilgrims bathe in 
the sacred river, thinking thereby to render them- 
selves holy, their bodies being wrapped in clean 
white sheets which they carry home with them and 
lay away for use as their shrouds after death. Leav- 
ing the multitude thus engaged, a few of us Franks 
(so the Orientals call Europeans and Americans) with 



137 

three Bedouin horsemen and two mounted Turkish 
soldiers as a guard, gallop down the plain till we 
reach the shore of the Dead Sea, a sheet of water 
forty miles long and varying in width from three to 
eight miles. Though the specific gravity of the lake 
is very dense, its surface we find ruffled by a slight 
breeze and rolling in quite a respectable surf. The 
color is a rich and beautiful blue, but the taste is far 
from beautiful, being intensely salt and bitter. The 
eastern and western shores are lined with precipitous 
mountains, rugged and scarred with volcanic action. 
But as the sun is getting high it becomes us to remem- 
ber the injunction, "Tarry not in all the plain," so 
turning our faces away from this scene of mingled 
beauty and desolateness, which with its memories of 
Lot's escape from Sodom and the destruction of the 
guilty city seems to typify God's mercy and His 
wrath, we hasten back to our camping ground, notic- 
ing on the way some splendid feats of horsemanship,, 
performed by the Bedouins, who holding lances some 
fifteen feet long in the right hand and the reins in the 
left, set their steeds flying in one direction, then 
bringing them to a sudden stand-still dart off at right 
angles to their former course without losing a 
moment in the change. 

Spending another night on the site of Jericho we 
remind ourselves that not far from this place Elijah 
was taken up to heaven in a chariot of fire; that the 
walls of this city fell after they had been compassed 
about seven times by the priests, also that here the 
blind men sat by the gate when Jesus came that way 



138 

and healed them. We omit particulars of our return 
to the city, except to say that the pilgrims are received 
by the Jerusalemites with great acclamations of jov 
and welcome. 

We take a trip the next day down to Bethlehem, 
only three miles distant, passing as we enter, a small 
structure known as Rachael's tomb. Here is the 
Church of the Nativity, built by the Empress Helena, 
A. D. 327, a stately edifice enclosing the supposed 
locality of the Saviour's birth. Descending by a 
staircase into the crypt, we find a small apartment 
lighted by many hanging lamps, on the floor of which 
is a beautiful circle of inlaid marble, and in the cen- 
tre of that circle a golden star, indicating the spot 
over which the Star in the East rested. On the other 
side is a small cavity in the rock which the monks 
call the manger in which the infant Jesus was laid. 
There is much superstition about all this, but we feel 
that the place is holy ground, for here was indeed 
born a "Saviour which is Christ, the Lord." These 
hills around are the same ones where the shepherds 
were keeping watch over their flocks on that night 
when there shone a supernatural light and the angels 
chanted the world's first Christmas carol. 

From Bethlehem to Jerusalem (the manger to the 
cross), we retrace our way full of sweet thoughts of 
Him who died for us all that He might reconcile us 
to God. We look beyond the cross to the resurrec- 
tion, and beyond that to the ascension, and rejoice 
that He ever liveth at the right hand of the Father to 
make intercession for us. 



139 



Whatever may be the drawbacks incidental to a 
journey to this land, one can never visit Palestine 
without receiving a vivid and indelible impression of 
the reality of the life of Jesus Christ on earth. 

And here I bid my readers a tender adieu, with the 
expression of the earnest hope that when life's 
journey is over we may all find a mansion awaiting 
us in the New Jerusalem above. 



INDEX. 



Page. 

I. — Introductory 5 

II. — Liverpool and London, ..... 10 

III.— London 17 

IV. — A Sunday in London, 25 

V. — Paris, 31 

VI. — Cologne and the Rhine to Switzerland, . . 40 

VII. — Interlachen, Geneva and Chamouni, ... 49 

VIII. — Leghorn, Pisa and Florence, .... 58 

IX.— The Eternal City, 65 

X. — Rome 76 

XI. — Naples and Vicinity, 85 

XII. — Malta and Athens, 92 

XIII. — Constantinople, 99 

XIV. — Smyrna to Beirut, ...... 107 

XV. — Jaffa and Jerusalem, 115 

XVI.— The City of David, 123 

XVII. — Round about Zion, 131 



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